What Dreams May Come
by Dhampir72
Summary: After a perilous encounter, Hanna finds himself in an inescapable dream world, which becomes the battlefield between life and death. His guides: an origami crane and a familiar man with no name. Eventual Hanna/...
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: What Dreams May Come

**Summary**: After a perilous encounter, Hanna finds himself in an inescapable dream world, which becomes the battlefield between life and death. His guides: an origami crane and a familiar man with no name.

**Rating**: R

**Content**: Blood/gore, slight mind-fuck, sexuality, depictions of alternate lifestyles, and Hanna's big fucking mouth.

**Pairing**: Eventual Hanna/{...} for great justice

**Genre**: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Spiritual, Supernatural, Action/Adventure, and a slight bit of -gasp- Romance.

**Author's Note**: So...just got into the fandom and I'm an insanely proud Hannafag now. Did some artfagging and now time for fictionfagging. My DGM reviewers are going to find my house and burn it to the ground at the rate I've been not updating my other fics, but I have to let the plot bunny out or its going to breed and then multiply at a rapid rate in my basement. Enjoy this shit, guys.

=0=

_To be, or not to be-that is the question:_

_Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer_

_The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune_

_Or to take arms against a sea of troubles_

_And by opposing end them..._

-Hamlet

Act 3, Scene I

=0=

So maybe it was kind of a bad idea, but that fact didn't matter after everything was already said and done, because that's how life usually works.

Really, the case had been a rare one. It started with a local child suddenly becoming ill enough to be hospitalized, whereupon the eight-year old Maggie Hurst slipped into a coma twenty-four hours later. Within forty-eight hours, she was dead. It was a shocking event that rattled the parents, stunned the doctors, and fed the presses. Hanna recalled sort of maybe possibly reading—glancing over on his way to the comics—something about it maybe two weeks prior in one paper or another he'd nabbed from the rack outside the convenience store. It hadn't been anything important in the scope of paranormal investigation at that time: just a tragedy that had no explanation. But then, other children started to appear in the hospitals downtown with the same symptoms. Parents were hysterical and more than once, Hanna had turned off the television to escape their sobbing, angry voices. Apparently, a health board was looking into the drinking water because of it, but that was a laugh in and of itself. The signs were clear, at least to Hanna that they were dealing with something much bigger than too much chlorine or a plethora of harmful chemicals in the water.

Someone else must have figured it out too, because three nights prior, Hanna was hired by someone with no last name and quite a bit of cash to look into the matter. In no position to say no—with the rent due and the need for fresh groceries mixed in with the ever present craving for IHOP pancakes, which cost money he did not have—Hanna took the case. With only a few hours of researching with a quiet feverishness that few had ever witnessed, he'd figured it out, and jumped up on top of the sofa with a "Gnee!" of excitement that actually startled Harvey—that was his current undead roommate's name that hour—out of the book he had been reading.

"_I figured it out!" Hanna says, and jumps on the worn couch to express his joy. "Fuck yes!"_

"_Of course you did," Harvey says, and Hanna is filled with a bit of pride that someone had so much faith in him. _

"_Don't you want to know? How awesome I am?" Hanna asks. Orange eyes are locked on him, and Hanna realizes that it's because the zombie is making sure that he does not fall and hurt himself. Always looking out for Hanna, and that makes him smile even wider. And when the corners of Harvey's quirk up slightly, Hanna rushes to make another tick mark on the ever accumulating tally of the Who Smiles More Board. When Hanna caps the marker, he returns to the couch and stands victoriously on the edge of it, declaring: "It's a Striga."_

"_A Striga?"_

"_Yeah. It's a really nasty ass demon that only comes out to feed every twenty-five years. Usually likes kids, which kind of makes it a really nasty ass demon pedophile."_

"_Does it eat their souls?"_

"_In a sense; Strigas feed on their life force—which is the volition that the soul provides—so it's a pretty slow process, especially when kids have such strong energy. Once that life force is gone though, your soul moves on and you kick it as fast as the electric's shut down when you're late on the bill." _

_Harvey closed his book and put on his fedora. _

"_Do you have a plan?"_

"_Fuck yes."_

Even when one has a plan, sometimes, factors get in the way that were not expected and therefore, unprepared for. For more mundane things, it's usually the weather when you want to go do something outside, or a nagging boss wanting to see some overtime on an employee's day off, and sometimes it takes the form traffic when you just want to get somewhere quickly. For paranormal investigating, it pretty much consisted of three things: old buildings, the cops, and other supernatural creatures.

It was doubly worse when they were clumsy supernatural creatures.

"Sh_iiiii_t," Conrad swore, letting out the vowel stretch out like a hiss. Number three had collided with number one, and when Hanna turned around, he saw that the vampire was buried to his waist in the decrepit floor. His arms shook as he tried to keep himself from falling through the cracked wood and it made Hanna laugh. "What the _fuck_ are you laughing about?" Conrad growled, though he did not look the slightest bit imposing in his current predicament. Hanna put his hand to his mouth to try and muffle the sound of his laughter, shoulders shaking as Conrad became steadily more and more pissed off. "Is someone going to _fucking _help me?" Gilgamesh—his zombie partner's new name, which Hanna thought to be epic, and therefore lucky on their case—grasped onto the collar of Conrad's sweater and pulled him up through the floor with ease. The vampire straightened out and pointed his pale finger at Hanna, who was still in a state of trying to quiet his hysteric giggles that were only fueled by Conrad's irate face and the tiny fang that protruded from the lower lip. "You fucking suck." Hanna actually did lose it then and even doubled over, banging his fist against his knee.

"What is so goddamn funny?" Conrad demanded, and his fists went up in the air like an angry toddler.

"Y-You're a vampire. _You're _the one who f-f-fuckin' sucks!" Hanna replied through gasps of air.

"That's _not_ funny," Conrad said, crossing his arms.

"I found it funny."

A voice—that certainly did not belong to anyone in their party—made Hanna get a grip on himself pretty quickly and caused him to look down the hall towards the source. A figure in a tattered, dusty, and overall rather clichéd cape stood there and was, judging from the ugliness of the chin that jutted out beneath the hood, their Striga.

"The _fuck_?" came Conrad's voice behind him—an octave higher than usual—and Hanna heard him take a step back.

"At least he's got a good sense of humor," Hanna said.

"I'm a chick," said the Striga.

"Oh, shit, sorry," Hanna replied.

"Happens all the time," she answered, and with that hideous chin, Hanna did not doubt her.

"At least _she_'s got a good sense of humor," Hanna amended, glancing back at Conrad.

"Are we seriously having this conversation right now?" Conrad asked. He was hiding behind Gilgamesh, where he pointed another accusatory finger at Hanna. "There's a fucking demon over there that's been eating kids and you're acting like we're in the fucking park about to see a live performance of Coldplay."

"I dunno. Coldplay's kind of gay," Hanna said with a shrug, not understanding what Conrad was so upset about. After all, they made fun of him all the time, because he was just easy to fuck with.

"You're _bat shit_ crazy," Conrad said and that caused Hanna to start laughing again, going so far to even snort into his palm. "_What_?"

"_Bats_," Hanna replied, thinking of the sassy bat, Adelaide, who had nested in Conrad's apartment for a while. Oh, and turned him into a vampire. There was that too. Conrad must have realized it too after a moment, because he got a little angrier. If he had any blood in him, his face might have been red, but since he didn't, it wasn't.

"_Not_ funny," Conrad said.

"But it kind of is," Hanna replied.

"My _death_ is funny to you?"

"Look guys, this is fun and all, but can we get back to the main plot soon? I haven't eaten in twenty-five years and I need some more delicious children," said the Striga. She was tapping her foot in an annoyed, womanly fashion.

"Right," Hanna said, and faced the creature again. He smiled and gave the creature a genial sort of shrug. "We're going to have to say no."

"No?" asked the demon.

"Yeah, you know, _no_. As in no fucking way are we going to let you go around killing kids," Hanna replied.

"You and what army?" the Striga asked.

"Well, there's me," Hanna said, and then jerked his thumb behind him at his partner and the cowering Conrad. "And them."

"So, only the three of you?" clarified the demon.

"Yeah," Hanna answered.

"That's a little lame," was the semi-disappointed reply.

"Not really, because we're pretty fucking awesome," Hanna said, holding out his trusty hammer with a grin. "So let's go."

Strigas were not only rare, but vicious during their cycles of feeding. Because that, she was strong with the energy she had stolen from kids, effectively giving her a boost in strength that equated her to the force of a speeding Toyota. The Striga leaped at Hanna, moving so quickly that she was just a blur of shadow and pale chin in the night. Within seconds, she was before him and Hanna, with his unremarkable height, could see beneath the hood: white, flabby skin nearly hid two beady black eyes within the flesh. They glared down at him and then the mouth—between the rolls of sagging cheeks and beneath the hooked nose—smiled, revealing multiple rows of long, thin teeth. Saliva dripped over the teeth that could pierce human skin and leave no marks, as they were merely an outlet by which the Striga used to feed on life energy. However, those pearly whites were suddenly bashed in when a metal pail collided with them, sending the demon hurtling backwards along the hallway where she slammed into the far wall. When Hanna blinked and took in the entire scene, he saw Gilgamesh standing there with his right arm outstretched, holding a dented bucket in his gloved hand.

"Hanna, are you okay?" he asked.

"That. Was. Awesome!" Hanna replied, because it had definitely been amazing. Gilgamesh even smiled in his usual half-smile sort of way at Hanna's enthusiasm. "Just because of that, you're Leonidas now!"

"Who gives a _shit_ what your name is? My fucking face hurts like a bitch…" grumbled the Striga, as she tried to pick herself up from the place on the floor.

"It's hurting me even more," said Conrad.

"Shut up, bloodsucker," replied the demon.

"You're a kidsucker, that's worse," Hanna said and then made a face. "Ew, that's kind of wrong now that I think about it.

"Am I the only one who's kind of wanting to hurry this along?" asked Conrad, who was begrudgingly following behind Hanna and the zombie as they approached the Striga. The wooden beam gave out and the demon got caught in between the splintered planks, keeping her from escaping.

"Yeah, you're right. Besides, there's gonna be a new episode of Hell's Kitchen on tonight that's supposed to be good," Hanna said, rubbing his chin as he tried to think of when exactly the cooking show was supposed to air. It was either nine or ten o'clock, but he couldn't quite remember…

"You're seriously thinking about television at a time like this?" Conrad asked.

"Well, Leonidas really likes Hell's Kitchen," replied Hanna, looking at the zombie. "Right Leonidas?"

"It is a very interesting show," Leonidas conceded.

"Maybe we should call you Gordon, you know, after Gordon Ramsay," Hanna said and Leonidas—then officially Gordon—blinked at him in a manner that Hanna interpreted as the green light to change his ever-changing name status.

"If I wasn't already dead, I would probably kill myself," muttered Conrad.

"I'm about ready to do myself in," said the Striga, tapping her fingers on the floor in impatience. She couldn't really go anywhere because of her current predicament so Hanna wasn't too worried.

"Nah, we'll take care of that," Hanna said, holding out his hand to Conrad. "Give me that thing Worth gave to you earlier."

"What thing?" Conrad asked.

"You know. The thing," Hanna said.

"Uh…"

"You're all idiots," said the demon. She tried to pull herself out of the hole in the floor, but Gordon stopped her by hitting the top of her hooded head with the metal pail. The Striga let out a sound of pain, and slumped forward again.

"Nice going, Ace," Hanna said, giving the zombie a thumbs up.

"Oh, right," said Conrad suddenly, before he began searching through the messenger bag that rested at his hip. He produced an object wrapped in black linen, which Hanna took and removed from the dark cloth. In the yellow light from one of the street lamps outside, the ornate dagger in Hanna's hands glowed at the hilt. The blade did not shine, as it was coated in a thick, almost-black looking liquid. Conrad sniffed the air and made a face. "What kind of blood is that?"

"Lamb's blood," Hanna replied and Conrad made a disgusted sound.

"It smells like Minnesota," he said.

"Minnesota?"

"You know, like a barn or something."

"Well, it is lamb's blood…"

"Where the _hell_ did Worth get _lamb's_ blood?" Conrad asked.

"Dunno," said Hanna with a shrug, "but he did offer me some lamb chops before we left."

"That…that's just wrong," Conrad said, and his face was borderline horrified at what Worth had probably done to an innocent lamb in the back room of his skeezy clinic. He shuddered and asked: "What do we need fucking lamb's blood for anyway?"

"It's the only way to stop a Striga," Hanna said, like it was a basic bit of knowledge everyone should know. "You know: the old dagger-dipped-in-fresh-lamb's-blood-thing." The demon in question hissed at him and tried to get away from the knife that would end her life. She was halfway out of the hole before Ace hit her with the bucket again.

"Stop _fucking_ hitting me!" she moaned.

"Sorry," Ace said, but did not sound it at all.

"You're apologizing? Don't apologize!" Conrad said.

"Yeah, well, sorry we're going to have to kill you now," Hanna said, though his serious words were said with a smile and a bit of an apologetic shrug.

"What if I say _no_?" she asked.

"Doesn't really matter," Hanna answered in a sing-song sort of voice.

"Okay, if that's the case, I'm sick of your shit. And that _fucking_ bucket," the Striga said. Faster than Hanna could make a stab at her, she moved and sunk her teeth into Ace's leg. The zombie blinked, looking down at the demon with his usual stoic expression.

"Maybe you should hit her again?" Conrad suggested, and there was an edge of excitement in his voice at the prospect. Ace nodded and raised the bucket again. He was just about to bring it down on her head when his arm froze in place. Hanna saw that his usually vibrant eye color had dulled to a dark, sedated shade.

"Ace?" Hanna asked, but received no reaction to that name or any of the others that followed: "Manny? Robert? Allen?" The darkness in his partner's eyes increased and Hanna suddenly realized, zombie or not, that the demon was taking his life force. If that depleted, there would be nothing to animate his body…Fearful of losing his partner to such a creature, Hanna lost all earlier pretenses of civility and comedy, stabbing the Striga in the shoulder with the dagger. "Leave Gary alone!"

"Motherfucker!" she screamed, releasing Gary from her hold. The light did not return to Gary's eyes and the pail dropped from his hand, ringing out with a clattering sound against the old, dusty beams. Gary's right knee hit the floor, then the left, but then he did not move or lift his head, fueling Hanna's fears.

"We're in trouble," Conrad said, just seconds before he was hurled backwards from Hanna's side. His body crashed through one of the closed hallway doors a few feet from where they stood. A cloud of dust plumed upwards, followed by a low moan of rushed swears that told Hanna the vampire was—well, not _alive_, but—going to be okay. However, Hanna should have been looking forward instead of back, because with his attention on Conrad, he missed the invisible force that slammed him against the wall, reacting a second too late. Feeling as if he had been pinned by a brick wall, Hanna could not raise either of his hands, leaving him helpless to write a rune to defend himself. Beside him, Gary remained unmoving on his knees.

"It's about time…" the Striga said, and pulled herself out of the hole without any hindrances. She brushed her cloak off and straightened up, nearing Hanna with a low chuckle that sent his flesh crawling. She ripped the dagger from her shoulder and threw it down the hall, where it skidded and then slammed into the rotting baseboards. "You were so busy with your comedy routine that it must have slipped your mind exactly what someone like me is capable of…" The pressure against him increased and Hanna felt as if he was being forced beneath water, as it became harder and harder to breathe. Of course. Telekinesis.

As if an enemy wasn't already nasty enough.

"Dammit, Hanna…what the hell do you keep dragging me into…" came Conrad's muttering from down the hall. He came out into the corridor covered in dust and large splinters, wiping his glasses on the hem of his sweater. When he placed them back on the bridge of his nose, Hanna watched as his expression suddenly changed as he registered the scene. If possible, he went paler. "Uh…"

"Connie…you'd better run…" Hanna forced out with the bit of air that he had. His lips had taken the form of a smile despite the fact that the tables had turned drastically.

"Yes, Connie, you'd better run away," taunted the demon. Beneath the hood, Hanna saw her smile, revealing all of her long teeth. Conrad looked like he very much wanted to high-tail it out of there, but he remained, showing his own—smaller and less imposing—fangs.

"No way," he said, and then for good measure: "Bitch."

"You're kind of cute," said the Striga. The compliment threw Conrad a bit off balance and his stance faltered slightly.

"Y-You really think so…?" he asked, but before he realized that it was a distraction, his body was once again thrown into one of the abandoned rooms of the building. Hanna heard him crash through the door and then what sounded like another wall. A few things fell and then, it was silent, signifying that the force used had been enough to keep Conrad from getting back up. Hanna felt his added concern mounting, not only for his partner, but now for Conrad as well.

"You're all a little slow, aren't you?" asked the Striga, as she turned her attention back to Hanna. Her voice was mocking. "You didn't even know that the only way to kill me is to stab me through the _heart_ while I'm feeding, not just in any damn place you please."

"Well, fuck…" Hanna said weakly, and no matter how he willed his hands to move, he could not do so.

"That's okay. I usually like them younger, but you've got more than enough life energy for me," she said, bearing her teeth. "And I could use a little snack." Hanna couldn't move away as she neared him or formulate any sort of defensive strategy as she went for his neck. Conrad was still not moving from the other room and Gary was—

_CLANG!_

"Cocksucking mother_fucker_…" groaned the Striga from the floor. The pressure suddenly gone from his chest, Hanna leaned against the wall for support momentarily as he processed what had happened.

"X-Xander!" Hanna said in relief at the sight of his partner standing over the demon with the mutilated bucket in his hand once more. He had come just before the Striga's fangs had pierced his throat, so Hanna gave him another thumbs up and a thankful smile: "Just in the nick of time…" With an agonizing slowness, Xander turned his head slightly towards Hanna, causing the redhead's enthusiasm to plummet. The light had not returned to his partner's eyes and it appeared as if it took every ounce of his willpower to make his body move. "Jim…?"

"Hanna…"

The weakness was apparent in Jim's voice, and Hanna tried to go to him, but had the zombie swept just out of his reach by the demon's power. His partner slid across the floor to the end of the hall, once again forced to his knees. If the bite had really taken that much out of him, Hanna knew that he could not take any more damage. There was only one thing left to do: destroy the Striga, even if that meant using himself as bait to do it. She was just regaining her footing, gripping her head from where she had been struck, when Hanna dashed for the dagger that had been thrown earlier. He had just wrapped his fingers around it when the redhead felt his body hurtle forward, like he had just been hit by a truck. Unable to control his body, Hanna slammed directly into Jim, causing the both of them to collide with the main baluster of the stairwell. The redhead lay partially on top of his partner, still gripping the dagger in his hand. However, he was dazed from the movement and barely felt the cool fingers against his neck.

"Han…na…" was all Jim could say, but Hanna could hear in his voice the unspoken _are you alright?_

"Jeez, Alphonse…you worry…too much…" Hanna murmured, shakily pushing himself up with a few panting breaths. But when he'd regained most of his bearings, Hanna glanced up at Alphonse's dull eyes and managed to smile reassuringly at him: "I'll fix everything...just relax."

"This is a really cute bromance and everything, but I'm pretty fucking annoyed by all of you," the Striga said, as she began walking toward them with a slow, purposeful gait. Hanna scrawled a rune onto his palm to get ready, just in case the dagger missed the first time…The demon did not seem to notice, continuing towards the place where they lay at the top of the stairs. "So first, I'm going to kill you. Then I'm going to kill your zombie friend _again_." Her hood turned to glance into one of the rooms with a broken door. "After that, I'm going to have my way with your little vampire friend. Then I'll stake him for funsies." She cackled and Hanna gripped the dagger tighter. "When I'm done with all of you, then I'll go out and find some more children. After twenty-five years, I've got a serious case of the munchies."

Hanna was about to reply to her to-do list with a snarky comment when the beams beneath them suddenly bowed as her weight joined them on their cross-section of the floor.

"Oh, shi—"

The old, decaying wood gave out, and the floor practically disintegrated beneath them, sending three bodies down to the landing below. With the force of their falling mass, however, those beams gave out as well, bringing them to the main floor of the building. Crashing through two floors, Hanna had curled into a fetal-like position to protect his body from any damage, but when gravity had stopped being a bitch and the dust had mostly settled, the redhead realized that he hadn't been too injured in the fall. Minus a few scrapes and an aching head, Hanna was all trembling but with no fatal wounds; probably a first for him. But then he realized exactly _why_ he hadn't sustained much worse: Alphonse had latched onto him, holding Hanna against the long length of his body to protect him from the fall.

"Kirby?" Hanna asked, coughing due to the debris. Beneath him, Kirby did not stir and Hanna could not see that usual orange-gold light through the dust. "Ramses?" Leaning closer, Hanna could see that his eyes were half-open and still with that dark, syrupy color from before. The arm around his waist did not move, but Hanna felt the lightest pressure when Ramses moved his fingers against his rib in gesture that yes, he was still holding on. He could only smile and let out a shaky sigh of relief, which was short lived.

Behind Hanna, there was a terrible shriek and then a grip on his throat as he was pulled back from his partner's unmoving form.

"I'm fucking sick to death of you," the Striga told him, so close that Hanna could feel her foul breath against his skin.

"I'm fucking sick of _you_," Hanna replied, and thrust out his palm. The rune activated when it touched her shoulder, blowing off the appendage via the blast of blue magic that Hanna created. However, she still had a grip on him and in her rage, apparently did not notice the missing limb. Instead, her teeth sunk into Hanna's skin. The bite was so wide that it made a ring from his chest to the back of his shoulder, where Hanna felt heat and cold all at once. He could almost feel his energy being taken, as if all his warmth were being sucked out through a straw. The chill crept up next, rendering Hanna unable to move. His nerves froze and then his mind blanked. Somewhere in his semi-consciousness, he felt the dagger slip from his fingertips. A voice shouted from above. Outside, sirens began to wail.

So really, in all actuality, everything had gone to hell in a handbasket, but he would only realize that fact later because there was nothing but a numb, cold feeling as Hanna was consumed by the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: All your love was well received. Thank you for your kind words everyone and I hope that you enjoy the second chapter!

_=0=_

…_To die, to sleep_

_No more – and by a sleep to say we end_

_The heartache and the thousand natural shocks_

_That flesh is heir to – 'tis a consummation_

_Devoutly to be wished._

_-Hamlet_

_Act 3, Scene I_

_=0=_

Hanna supposed it could have been worse—because, really, things could always be worse—but he was finding it a little hard to imagine anything that could be crueler than his current predicament.

When he came to, it was to a barren, shapeless landscape with a temperature that probably constituted as the arctic tundra. The wind whipped through him and his thin coat, spearing his lungs and organs with painful, chilling jabs that sent him into a shivering mess. In order to protect himself somewhat from this assault, he pulled his arms around himself to try and maintain some sort of body heat. Squinting against the freezing wind, Hanna looked around him to find that there was nothing but gray, flat land in all directions; above, steely clouds gathered in looming heaps. Hanna wasn't sure if that meant snow or rain, but either way, it sucked, so he didn't think about it for too long.

What he did think about was how he had arrived there. The events were fuzzy, but still pretty recognizable in his head as he forced his feet to walk in the direction that did not battle the wind. At first, the images came slowly: a dark night, an old building, and it had been autumn, which Hanna definitely preferred over the current weather, which he could not help but think was complete shit, _again_. To get back on his train of thought, Hanna delved deeper into his memories: the redhead knew that there had been a very _ugly_ Striga, a sort of one-sided fight, and then there was nothing at all... Hanna gripped at his shoulder, feeling an icy pain tear through him suddenly. He bit his lip and kept walking, holding onto himself and the realization that he'd been _bitten_ by the motherfucking demon.

_Awesome_.

"_Fuck_…" Hanna groaned, and squatted down on the ground to try and escape the bitter cold. If he had been bitten, it meant he was probably like all those kids who ended up in comas, which also meant that he hadn't managed to _kill_ the demon either... That certainly explained a lot; for one how he had suddenly ended up in Antarctica or wherever the fuck he happened to be. For a dream, he thought, it was pretty realistic... His fingers dug into the material of his hoodie as he racked his brain trying to think of something, _anything_ that could reverse the situation. But he came up with nothing at all except for the continuous train of thought that ran through his head like a heard of stampeding African animals; a mantra that repeated over and over: _cold, cold, so fucking cold, Jesus, it's fucking cold…_During this tumult of thought, Hanna felt his comprehension click into place with his memories and he finally remembered the most important part of what had happened that night, where there were _a pair of dark gold eyes that had lost their usual glow and the cool fingers against his neck as the voice asked without asking Hanna are you alright?_

_Shit._

Hanna stood up and hurried to look around, hoping to see some sign of his partner with him in the endlessly dreary environment. In his chest, Hanna felt an ache begin to form; a heaviness that he could only describe as the most intense form of worry he had ever felt. He had momentarily forgotten about reality, but how long was that, really? What if he was too late? Hanna felt his raw cheeks turn colder with the prospect of suddenly not having his roommate and partner there; the rest of him felt heavier thinking that he would have been the cause of it. If Hanna was too late—like he was always _too damned late_—he wouldn't have the delicious smell of breakfast in the morning or the gentle golden light against his walls at night or those little half-smiles that just _made his day_ or, God, just the thought of it made him want to rip his hair out and throw up and—

_Hanna._

It was quiet, almost an unheard whisper against Hanna's psyche, calming his nerves as it soothed his scattered concerns. The reason for this reaction was obvious, as name was spoken with a familiar tenor; the same one Hanna had come to associate with his dingy flat with the too-small window and the earthy, pleasant smell of a zombie which all constituted as _home_.

"Victor?" Hanna called out into the nothingness. "Aaron? Mark? Raymond!" His voice seemed to disappear, swallowed by the wind. Even if Raymond was out there, Hanna doubted his partner would hear him. But just as these depressingly chilling thoughts began gnawing at his mind, Hanna saw something in the distance: a flickering, pale orange light like a weak flame on the horizon. On numb feet, Hanna ran towards it, hoping that perhaps Raymond _had_ heard him somehow and sent a beacon to guide him. He pushed himself until it was painful to draw breath and even then, continued towards the source of the light. It never seemed to be any closer than terribly far away. After a while of getting nowhere, Hanna was just considering resting for a moment—because really, it was too damn cold and he was just so _tired_—but when he took another step forward, the wind suddenly died down into nothing but stillness. Cold still permeated the air and gripped Hanna through his clothes, but it was a lot better than being victim to the elements. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he leaned over with his hands against his trembling knees in an attempt to stop his shaking. In this position, Hanna came to the realization that he was no longer outside; beneath his checkered feet rested pale beige concrete, scuffed and dirty with age. A peeling yellow line rested about six inches from his right foot, stretching out in a horizontal line in front of him. Confused at the sudden change of surroundings, Hanna's brow furrowed as he looked up.

"What… the hell…?" Hanna said aloud, his breath visualizing before him in a small, white cloud. No longer did he find himself in the middle of some arctic wasteland, but instead in a deserted train station full of gray shadows and rust. There were no trains on the black tracks and no passengers waiting in the grungy place that smelled like waste and dirt. From where he stood, Hanna could see the flashing of an orange light at the place where the trains would pass from the outside world to the inside platform. It was an emergency light; probably the same one he had seen in the distance, thinking foolishly that somehow his voice had been heard...

Hanna swore colorfully under his breath at his idiocy, shaking in the frigid, stagnant air.

He grit his teeth, thinking about how much everything kind of sucked when he had absolutely no idea what was going on or how to get out of Bumfuck Nowhere. Worse yet, his back pocket was missing its sharpie and his hammer was conveniently gone and the air was not getting _any_ warmer, thank you very fucking much. In a nutshell, Hanna was helpless and freezing. To top it off, he was also alone and just to add to his misery, his shoulder gave another burst of pain, leaving him in a crippling state of agony for a time that felt like hours instead of minutes. But then again, maybe it had been a few hours; Hanna couldn't tell and the clock hanging above the deserted ticket counter had stopped ticking at 11:32, so a good lot of fucking good that did him.

_Hanna._

It was his name again, spoken like a soft caress against his ear. In that moment, Hanna's trembling stopped and he felt warmer, if only for a second, upon hearing it.

"Jericho?" Hanna called out, and his voice echoed in the emptiness. It resounded over and over, layering upon itself as it carried over the rails and floor, reverberating off the walls and angled ceiling. Jericho did not reply and Hanna felt the coldness creeping back into his bones. Shaking his head so not to fall into despair, Hanna laughed out loud, though it sounded a bit shaky, as his teeth were chattering from the temperature. He'd been through worse. There were several situations he could think of that had been life-threatening, but hadn't killed him, so cold—_pshaw, what cold?_—didn't have _anything_ on that. When the laugh died on his lips, Hanna realized it was because he'd recalled the reason he'd managed to make it through some of the toughest challenges.

_Galahad._

Hanna's optimism sank, forcing him to sit down heavily on a damp bench. For even a scrap of warmth, Hanna pulled his knees close to himself as he looked around, searching for the best way to proceed. With every puzzle, there was an ending picture, just like with every maze, there was a way out.

Except for the mazes that were dreams which had no end.

He closed his aching eyes and sighed as he rested his cheek against the material of his jeans, drowning in worries that would not have plagued him would he have been in a better state of mind. Instead of needlessly saturating himself in negativity, Hanna tried to remember what Jacob's pancakes smelled like and how they tasted that morning-it had been only that morning, hadn't it?-but no matter how hard he attempted to recall this information, Hanna could not. He could only feel the cold and taste a bitter, metallic flavor on his tongue. "Shit..." Hanna grumbled, sniffing against the chill. A sound like rustling paper brought Hanna out of his darkening thoughts, making him peek over his knees to see what it could be. On the tip of his black and white shoe perched a small, origami crane. Its vibrant orange color contrasted with the dismal atmosphere, generating another small flicker of warmth inside of him. He even managed to dredge up a small smile.

"Well, hey, how'd you get there?" Hanna said aloud, reaching his arms around his legs to take hold of the folded paper. In his palms, the bird suddenly came to life, shaking itself into a state of animation. It nudged its wing from beneath Hanna's thumb, almost like he'd insulted it by holding it improperly. Hanna was going to apologize, but the words never came, because really, what's the right thing to say to a piece of rice paper? When the creature moved, it puffed itself out from the two-dimensional state to become fuller and flapped to push its head and tail outwards to a perfectly folded shape of trapezoids and triangles. Blue eyes remained transfixed on something they'd seen in a flash, written beneath the fold of the wing in a familiar sort of penmanship. The crane moved that paper appendage beneath his forefinger, as if to confirm he _had_ seen something after all. Gently, Hanna flipped the thin paper upwards. There in bold black letters read the words:

**Follow me.**

Once the words had been read, the crane zipped out of Hanna's hands and flew several feet in front of him, hovering in the air a moment like it was waiting. Its triangular head turned slightly to regard him, as if asking _well what are you just sitting there for? Coming or not?_ With nothing else really helping him, Hanna stood up and followed, albeit a bit hesitantly. He had read enough Grimm Brothers faerie tales to know that the endings to bizarre situations usually ended in some sort of bloody conclusion. And, yes, Hanna had also read _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _which made him doubly cautious in a world which he had no control. The redhead resolved that the moment he found a pie that said _eat me_, he would take off running. His stomach gave a long, loud growl at the thought of food.

Well, maybe it depended on the kind of pie…

The crane whizzed around Hanna to get his attention, going so far as to snip at his hair and nudge his glasses.

"Hey, chill," Hanna told the bird, and it stopped its assault against him. Returning to the current predicament, the redhead followed the orange crane across the platform and towards an exit, which certainly had not been there before... The sign that hung above the door sat dusty and without color; a remnant of a previous age. From the top of the stairs, only blackness met his eyes. Darkness did not bother Hanna, even on cases that proved to be dangerous. Sometimes, he developed a bad feeling in his gut that told him to leave—though he never really heeded this advice—in certain situations. With no light and oppressive shadow, Hanna thought that maybe he should have experienced this sensation of fear or apprehension, but nothing manifested. Perched on his shoulder, the crane nudged him with its paper wing.

_Hanna_.

"Guenner?" Hanna said, out of reflex. His foot moved forward into the passageway and stepped down. The stair made a gentle sound, like a C or maybe a D—Hanna wasn't sure because even though he loved music, he had a terrible ear for it—on a piano, which made him stop and listen until the note no longer rang out in the narrow stairwell. As if on cue, the bird left his shoulder and began a slow descent downwards. Its orange color provided a gentle glow, which Hanna followed, traveling several octaves along the piano stairs until his feet met flat ground. It felt soft beneath his sneakers.

_Hanna_.

The voice came from directly in front of him, where a thin rectangular line cut into the blackness. The light behind it matched the color of the crane, which flitted close to the gap, as if wanting to squeeze through the small opening. Reaching out, Hanna's fingers brushed against the old wood of a door frame, moving south until his palm rested on a circular knob. It felt warm against his hand. Standing there, Hanna had no bad feelings about the door or where it led, somehow reassured by the comforting temperature against his skin. However, he did hesitate momentarily. Usually Hanna was all for leaping without looking—as Guenner was the one who normally did the looking, he realized with a pang of guilt—but this time, he took pause. At a disadvantage without magic and without his partner, Hanna felt like he did as a kid, when the things beneath his bed had terrified him. The thought of never escaping made him feel _heavy_. Even though the warmth radiating from the door felt comforting, Hanna wondered if it was a trap, like when demons wore human skin… The crane made an irritated motion beside him, pecking at his fingers to urge him onward, as if trying to tell him he was an idiot and _not to worry so much_.

"Hey, quit it," Hanna said, swatting the bird away, as well as his thoughts. It was definitely not like him to think that way, so he resolved to not do so any longer. Gripping the knob, he turned it and pushed inwards. It creaked and shuddered, but opened, revealing more bright light. The radiant illumination nearly blinded Hanna, and he squinted as he stepped into the—was that _sunshine?_ Beneath his feet the soft, plushy ground suddenly came into vibrant focus: fresh green grass. When Hanna inhaled, it was like the clearest autumn day, which definitely beat the smell of exhaust and waste from before.

When his eyes adjusted, Hanna looked up and around at his new surroundings. It was a place he had never seen before, like everything before, but it was much more beautiful than the barren tundra and the abandoned train station. Plus, he wasn't freezing his ass off, so that was a plus in and of itself. The harsh grays and blacks that he'd encountered previously were even duller in his mind as he registered the remarkable hues of the landscape. Around him, the hills were alive with the reds and oranges of the changing season, scattering leaves onto the grassy slopes and valleys which were covered in—

Headstones.

There were gravestones of all shapes and sizes: some stout and square while others were longer and rounded. Some had crosses, others had angels, and one even looked like it had some sort of griffin perched atop its rounded face. However, all shared one thing in common: instead of names being engraved in each surface, there were huge white and blue stickers that read: **HELLO, MY NAME IS: **like they were at a party or other awkward function where you had to wear those ridiculous name tags. It was interesting, Hanan thought, as he walked through the graveyard in the direction that the crane indicated, that beneath each heading there were scrawled names in all slants, styles, and colors, like the owners had signed their own graves. Although entertaining—in a morbid way—Hanna did not know how it would help him get out of this current state of dreaming. Certainly, it was much nicer than where he had been before, but what if he would wander, lost, forever? Looking back, Hanna saw the outline of an orange door frame in the middle of the unknown cemetery. A cool breeze pushed the door closed and it disappeared behind him, leaving Hanna among the tombstones without knowing _why_ he was there and now without a way back... The crane appeared before his eyes, flapping its wings quickly to keep upright. Hanna could see the message **follow me** again and again as it moved.

Hanna thought of Imhotep and followed.

"Lead the way, I guess," Hanna said, and the origami creature continued onwards through a winding maze of stones and greeting stickers. When they reached the top of the hill, Hanna saw that the cemetery stretched for a long, long way in both directions with no end in sight. The crane flapped around his head cheerily while Hanna's shoulders sunk slightly. "Man, this sucks..." He sighed and sat down on the soft grass. Above him, the clear blue sky was just a perfect shade, but it did not bring him as much joy as he'd hoped, as Hanna was still lost and wandering aimlessly in search of a way out. "At least it's warmer here..." He mused aloud, leaning back to lie on the ground momentarily. The bird frantically flapped around him, as if trying to get him to sit back up. Lazily, he waved his hand at it to get it to stop, closing his eyes for _just a minute_…

"You shouldn't sleep there, Hanna. Someone might trip and fall over you."

Hanna opened his eyes so quickly that the light dazed him, making him see too much blue all at once. Rapidly blinking to adjust to the sunshine, he managed to grab the image of a familiar orange shirt and black tie and—

"H-Harper?" Hanna said, almost squeaking in his surprise as he jerked upright. When his vision focused, he saw his partner standing there at his remarkable height in his usual clothes, but with an appearance that Hanna found quite different. The greenish tint to his skin had dissipated, leaving a warm, flesh-colored tone in its place, and even though Hanna hadn't been bothered by the stitches previously, Harper was quite nice without them. In fact, he was just quite nice to look at in general. Although he had certainly maintained his handsome looks as a zombie, Hanna also had to say that he made quite the attractive human as well. The redhead felt some heat gather in his cheeks when he realized that he'd been unashamedly staring. It was obvious that Harper noticed—which made Hanna turn a similar color to his hair—and he smiled in a way that was, in Hanna's humble opinion, the most amazing smile _ever_. It beat his usual half-smiles by a million percent. That alone made Hanna stutter uncontrollably. "Y-You, that is, uh, I-I m-mean, you're—"

"Not green?" he supplied, and there was humor—fucking _humor—_in his voice that made Hanna break out into a large grin, which then dissolved into laughter. He was so damn _relieved_ that he couldn't help it and even though everything was just fucked up beyond all reason, Hanna finally wasn't alone. He didn't realize he was crying—and so _stupidly_ too—until he felt a warm thumb press lightly over his cheek, smoothing the tears away. The simple touch spread heat throughout every part inside of him. "Hanna?"

"Fuck… I'm such a pussy, crying like a girl..." Hanna mumbled, wanting to hide. Instead, he wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt so that he didn't have to see Harper watching him, rubbing until his face felt raw, but completely dry. "Christ, at this rate I might as well get in the kitchen and start baking pies and shit..." Hanna sniffed and glanced up. His partner was crouched beside him with the look of concern that the redhead had seen one too many times. Green or not, he was still the same person: always so worried about him. To abate his preoccupation, Hanna managed to smile. "Sorry, Oz."

"For what?" he asked, and it was that same sincere tone of voice, like Oz hadn't been bothered at all by his loss of composure. When Hanna chanced to meet his eyes, they were the color of warm honey. He felt his ears turn hot.

"For freaking out," Hanna clarified. "That was so not cool, so don't tell anyone, okay?"

"About what?" Oz replied, sounding innocent.

"Exactly," Hanna said, and grinned, leaning back on his hands. The grass felt soft and cool beneath his palms. A familiar face brought back his usual personality: bright and only slightly—_terribly_ now that Oz was suddenly more attractive than usual—awkward. "That's why you're awesome."

"At least I know for sure it's you now," Oz said with his own lips quirking upwards slightly as he shifted from his crouch to sit beside Hanna. His orange sneakers stretched a bit further than Hanna's checkered ones, emphasizing their height difference, but for once, Hanna was not feeling his usual complex about that.

Their shoe sizes were a different matter all together and that thought alone made Hanna unable to look at their feet without thinking inappropriate thoughts.

"Whaddaya mean?" Hanna asked, and tried to focus very hard everything except the man beside him. He would just end up staring again—thinking thoughts that were certainly beyond the realm and into the next universe beyond _just friends_—and that constituted as just plain creepy.

"Well, you've got a pretty convincing doppelganger running around," Oz replied, looking up at the cloudless sky. Hanna found that to be a good opportunity to sneak a peek—just a quick one, honestly—at Oz. The redhead found himself slightly jealous of his bone structure, but admired the angle of Oz's jaw and nose and lips and, _Jesus_, he was beginning to sound queer.

"Really?" Hanna asked, though his thoughts were preoccupied with how much he actually liked his partner's stubble. Like, really, _really_ found it attractive. It was probably twenty-four years on this earth spent not getting any, and when he said _any_ he meant _any_, because in his life he'd maybe-sort-of-kind-of-okay-not-really kissed a girl once. On the cheek. Hanna Falk Cross needed to get laid, and sometime before he jumped his own partner like a sex-starved teenager because he found _stubble_ of all things attractive. He wondered what it would feel like against his skin and the blood burned a little hotter in his cheeks as his imagination carried him away. It took him a moment to get his mind out of the gutter—because it was a damn _deep_ gutter and the heat was going south, which was _not_ a good thing—so that he could continue the conversation: "That's, uh… kind of fucked up. How'd you know it wasn't me?"

"Well, no one can be you except you," he answered, and smiled in a way that made Hanna feel goofy and great and just plain _awesome_ all at once. "That was a big clue. Not to mention, when he tried to rip off my arm and eat it, I got the impression it wasn't you."

"I dunno, when I get hungry, I can get pretty desperate," Hanna answered with a grin and Oz laughed. It stunned Hanna to the point where he could think of no words or actions, as his mind had completely shut off with the inability to comprehend what was happening. His partner rarely smiled, but _laughing_? Laughing was unheard of, until that moment. Hanna moved to lean closer to Oz, observing him carefully, propelled by a rising excitement that usually characterized his nature, making him temporarily immune to those very, _very_ nice eyes. Unable to contain himself, Hanna exclaimed: "Y-You're laughing!"

"Contrary to popular belief, I can laugh," Oz replied, and although his laugh had quieted, he was still smiling in a way that made Hanna feel like a weak-kneed teenage girl. That whole needing-to-get-laid thing was starting to become very important to maintain his sanity.

"I have to commit this moment to memory _forever_," Hanna said, and his tone was teasingly semi-serious. However, it spurred another question, so that when he continued, it was with a bit more calmness than he normally displayed. "Speaking of which, I mean, you know..."

"Being here, wherever we are, hasn't helped anything, if that's what you're wondering," Oz answered, and his smile fell slightly.

"So nothing at all?" Hanna asked.

"Not really. I feel like maybe I've been here before, but maybe I haven't," Oz answered, and Hanna watched as the orange crane landed on his knee, moving its wings like a paper butterfly. "And then there's this guy. I guess he's pretty useful after all, since he found you." The note **follow me** flashed slowly as the bird adjusted itself to a more comfortable position. Hanna realized then that he recognized the handwriting on the wing; he'd seen it in the tiny messages that Oz had left him from time to time, everything from _at the store_ pasted on the fridge to the post-it notes in his lunches at times when he _really_ didn't want to go to work that simply said _have a great day_.

"How'd you know I was here?" Hanna asked.

"I heard you calling me," Oz replied simply, and when he looked at Hanna, the redhead flushed slightly and pretended to be very interested in the grass, or one of the orange maple leaves close to his right hand.

"I heard _you_ calling _me_," Hanna answered and sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Oz's arm. He radiated a warmth that usually was absent in reality, which only brought back their dilemma to mind: they were trapped in a dream world created by the demon. Like the children, they probably had only a day or two until their life forces were completely depleted, as the Striga could continue to draw energy through the invisible bites she left behind, even if she was halfway across the world enjoying tea—scratch that: young British boys wearing knickerbockers and other English apparel—in London. Because they hadn't woken up yet meant that she was still out there.

It meant she wasn't dead yet.

"You started it," Oz said, and there was so much life in his teasing tone that Hanna felt his worries about their current situation vanish entirely.

"No, you did," Hanna replied. He smiled against the sweet-smelling sleeve of Oz's coat when he felt a soft caress of fingertips—maybe slightly hesitant, but not any less in intended meaning—against his hair. "But whatever."

"You're cold, are you alright?" he asked, changing the subject. His fingers stopped and did not resume their previous activity, much to Hanna's dismay.

"I'm okay," answered Hanna, but that didn't stop Oz from removing his coat to drape around the redhead's shoulders. It was like he'd been swaddled in the warmest, most comfortable blanket on the _planet_ and it smelled _amazing_, which made him nothing short of completely elated.

And kind of horny, but anyway...

"Thanks," Hanna said, and pulled it closer around him.

"Don't mention it," Oz replied, all suave and debonair-like, probably just to make Hanna feel even more attracted than before. He wondered if it was just the dream that had misplaced his yearning feelings onto his partner, because certainly they hadn't been there before...right?

Right?

"This place is fucking weird…" Hanna added with a sigh, after a long few moments of silence pondering his personal questions. He glanced one way and then the other, seeing the same scene stretching from north to south and east to west. "It's like _The Twilight Zone_, only not in black and white and without Rod Serling."

"Actually..." Oz said, and pointed at one of the tombstones close to them. Rod Serling's name had been written in green, bold letters on his grave sticker.

"Okay, that's wrong. Rod Serling deserves a fucking temple for that show," Hanna replied, and made an annoyed face at the marker, because he did find it insulting—thank you very much—that the dreamworld did not acknowledge a master of sci-fi brilliance. "What's with all these graves anyway? I feel like I'm at an awkward prom or something."

"Tell me about it…" Oz said. He then reached over to Hanna and put his hand into his overcoat pocket, pulling out handfuls of **HELLO MY NAME IS: **stickers. Each of them had a name in what looked like Hanna's very own writing. "These keep appearing in my pockets..." At the top of the pile sat _Oz_, as well as other familiar titles Hanna had used for his partner: _Harper_, _Guenner, Phillip, Jericho, Ramses_, and so many more beneath those, all which scattered onto the grass. Some blew down the hill with the leaves in the cool wind.

"Really?" Hanna asked, and then added: "Ryan?"

Ryan pulled the sticker from his pocket.

"Roy?" Hanna tried.

The same.

"Jayne?" Hanna suggested.

"Jayne's a girl's name," Jayne said.

"You're talking to who now?" Hanna replied, and pulled out the tag before Jayne could get to it. The _y_ was curly, like Hanna's old reading teacher used to write it.

"Point taken," said Jayne.

"Howard? Raavi? Ash?" Hanna tried, and pulled his arms through the long sleeves of Ash's coat. Although the cuffs were so long that it took him a few tries to get his hand into the pocket, he managed to produce three stickers with the corresponding names upon them. "You must have magic pockets," Hanna reasoned, pulling the said pocket inside out to see if there was some sort of trick.

"I think it's just this place," Ash answered. "It makes strange things happen."

"You're telling me. I went from somewhere in the fucking Yukon to a train station in Chicago, which is a horror movie all in itself" Hanna said, putting pocket back into the coat.

"The Yukon or Chicago?" Ash asked.

"Both, really, but if I had to pick, it would be Chicago. It's a pretty terrifying place," Hanna replied, before adding, "Ringo."

"You've already used Ringo," Ringo reminded him as Hanna removed the sticker.

"My bad, Carlisle," Hanna answered, and dug out the next sticker. "Haaa, I could do this all day."

"Speaking of the day, it doesn't seem to be getting any later, does it?" Carlisle asked, looking at the sky.

"Not really," Hanna said, giving up on the pocket for a few moments to look up into the sunshine with Carlisle. When it got a bit too bright for him, he opted to observe his partner again, taking in the way the light made his eyes a unique-and _unfair_-shade of gold. "Do you think we're stuck in like...the In-Between or something?"

"The In-Between?" Carlisle repeated, turning his attention back to Hanna.

"You know, like the place in between the living world and...whatever's out there. Like, the afterlife or whatever," Hanna answered with a shrug. "I read about it in a forum once. Apparently being in a dream—or in an extended dream, like a coma—is the space between the worlds, like, an alternate dimension..."

"Said forum wouldn't have explained how to get out I'm presuming," Carlisle replied and looked at Hanna with _those eyes_ those eyes that made the redhead trip on his words.

"N-No, but, you know, hey, we're awesome and we'll figure it out," Hanna said. His cheerful disposition had returned now that he had been reunited with his partner, who smiled at him in that _ohmygod-ohmygod-ohmy_fucking_god_ sort of way.

"You're right," Carlisle replied as Hanna quickly attempted to pick up his metaphorical self from the puddle he had turned into so suddenly.

"Well...damn right I am, so let's get a move on!" Hanna said, springing to a stand quickly with his new found enthusiasm, and—thankfully—no evidence of his state of mind and raging hormones. That disposition dampened slightly by the expanse of tombstones and rolling hills in all directions. He'd momentarily forgotten about the whole shitty dreams-are-really-hard-to-get-out-of scenaro. "Huh... any idea which way to go, Konstantine?" While his partner stood up and looked around, Hanna stuck his hand into the coat pocket to search for the name tag. When he removed it, the name was spelled with a _C_ instead of a _K_. "Hmm...maybe your pockets aren't so magical after all. Apparently they need spell-check..."

"Here, use this," Konstantine said, and leaned forward to pull a pen from the other pocket so that Hanna could fix the error. It was so like Konstantine to feed his bad or attention deficit habits. Hanna took it—glad that he didn't go all girly when their fingers brushed like _ohshityes—_and fixed the mistake, scribbling in a small circle to get the ink flowing correctly. "As for which way to go, I have no idea. It looks the same in every direction..." Something orange fluttered between them, which Hanna at first mistook for a leaf, but then realized that it was the crane, which had been displaced when Konstantine stood.

"Heeeey, maybe we can use this guy," Hanna said, snatching the bird out of the air. Its triangular wings flapped rapidly in an attempt to get away. "He seems to have a good sense of direction." It pecked at Hanna's fingers and the redhead was forced to let go. The crane made a few flips on the wind before straightening out to glide gently to a rest on Konstantine's shoulder. "Hm, maybe he doesn't like me…"

"You conjured him, that night at the theatre, so maybe he's just shy?" Konstantine offered, holding out his finger for the animated creature. Hanna watched the fluid motion and could not help but to think how _nice_ Konstantine's hands were, while struck by the sudden want to have those fingers touching him, palms pressing hot and needy against his skin. Feeling guilty for such thoughts, Hanna flushed—for like the _billionth_ time, he had to _stop that_—and jerked his eyes away, choosing instead to stare out into the distance. Along the horizon, the blue skies were beginning to bleed into a darker color, like a storm was approaching. "Come to think of it, I was in a place kind of like this that night..."

"Oh yeah? Was there bad weather there?" Hanna asked, his gaze locked on the periwinkle ceiling that was beginning to deteriorate to black. The color was dissolving too quickly to be natural and the redhead was getting a bad feeling. He wasn't the only one who noticed and felt the same way.

"Maybe we should get out of here..." was Konstantine's reply, and Hanna felt his wrist latched onto, body moving with his partner as he was pulled away from the place where he had stood, unable to move. In front of them, the crane flapped with all its might, as if trying to escape from the impending danger as well. When a rumble of thunder resounded above them, the tiny bird zipped away to hide in Hanna's coat pocket. They were only half-way down the hill when the ground shook with tectonic activity, carving a scar in the earth about the size of the alley behind Hanna's flat. The divide stretched between them and it was so deep that Hanna needed help getting across. Konstantine's strong arms pulled Hanna onto his side of the gash to keep from getting separated. "Are you okay?"

"Whoa, shit…" Hanna said in response, clutching at his partner's arms with shaking fingers. He was certainly acting like a weak damsel, but Hanna couldn't help it despite his best intentions, and even found himself leaning against Konstantine for support. He was so _warm_...

"Hanna?"

"Yeah, I'm okay…" Hanna replied, and reluctantly pulled away from Konstantine's hold. Slightly embarrassed by this display, Hanna looked back at the gouge in the ground and then grinned. "At least that wasn't too bad." But the words had no sooner left his lips when Murphy's Law acted and everything that could go wrong, _did_.

It manifested in a terrible moan that rang out with resounding clarity, sending a chill right through Hanna's body.

It made him stop and turn to look; Konstantine did the same. At the top of the hill where they had previously been standing loomed a line of dark figures in various hunched positions. Their eyes held a dangerous red glow in the pervading darkness. Around them, Hanna saw hands and other appendages coming through the dirt, pushing gravestones out of the way as bodies pulled themselves from the soil.

"Hanna..." Konstantine said quietly from beside him.

"Yeah, Mal," whispered Hanna, unable to take his eyes off the growing force of undead on the slope above them.

"You know that one movie we watched, where the zombies were obscenely fast for no good reason?" Mal said.

"The one where everyone died at the end?" Hanna asked, just to clarify.

"Yeah. That one," Mal answered.

"Yeah..." was all Hanna could get out. Above them, the zombies let out agonizing moans and groans, their red eyes glowing brighter red as the darkness settled. Beneath Hanna's feet, the grass turned brown and died. Out of the corner of his eye, Hanna saw the vibrant orange and red leaves on the trees shrivel and turn to dust.

"The undead cast is here," said Mal, as the zombies began to charge at them at a frightening pace, "so let's run." He didn't have to say it twice, because Hanna was all for that plan, and picked up his pace to match Mal's. They hurried down the pathway among the churning graves, weaving when they could to try and keep the hoard of their trail. But the zombies were insistent and really _damn fast_. One managed to get ahead of the group by a few meters, swiping at Hanna's arm. Luckily Mal noticed before it could grab hold of the redhead, and paused for only a fraction of a second to kick it in the jaw. It spun from the force of the attack and slammed face first into the doors of the nearest mausoleum.

"Holy shi—" Hanna was in the process of saying, before Mal grabbed his wrist again and pulled him along before the rest of the zombies caught up.

"You're telling me," Mal said, over his shoulder to Hanna. Even with the situation, there was a bit of lingering humor in his voice. "And if I ever become like that, you have my permission to _shoot _me."

"Have I told you today how awesome you are?" Hanna asked, completely giddy as glanced back at the zombie that could still not get its head out of the iron door of the mausoleum. "Because you're awesome, for seriously. I mean, you _kicked_ that thing in the _face_ like _whoa—_!" The flat ground angled sharply, and Hanna found himself suddenly skidding down an embankment that was thick with mud and who knew what else. Unable to stay upright with the downward velocity, Hanna fell backwards. With this motion, he brought down Mal and together they slid rapidly along the slick grass towards an inky river. Despite the blackness of the water and what could be lurking there, Hanna had his reservations that it would be much better than the ravenous zombies any day...

Just feet before the slope would give way to water, Hanna felt his body pulled toward Mal's. His long arms moved around Hanna's shoulders while his body curled into a shape that would function as a shield against whatever danger awaited them. It reminded Hanna of the way his partner had protected him before; so many times putting himself out there to take the majority of the injury so Hanna didn't have to.

"_You really shouldn't keep doing this, Yusuke," Hanna says, one night when his partner's body has taken too much damage again and the redhead is sewing the ripped shoulder back properly, stitching over stitches from previous times that should never have happened in the first place._

"_Doing what?" Yusuke asks, like he doesn't know._

"_Getting hurt like this," Hanna replies._

"_But if I didn't, you would be the one missing an arm, Hanna," he says, and it's in that tone of voice he tends to use when Hanna is being stubborn. "My body can be put back together again. Yours can't."_

"_But doesn't it hurt?" Hanna asks, and his fingers stop sewing for a moment, trembling with the knowledge that his partner can experience pain._

"_Not as much as the thought of losing you."_

The memory came and went in the span of mere seconds in the collapsing world around them. Hanna clutched onto Mal's shirt as they began to roll and then finally crashed into the icy water. The cold assaulted his senses immediately, freezing him to the core, but his fingers remained clasped around the comforting orange material of his partner's sleeve. The water sucked them down into the depths, and it was like being inside a vicious whirlpool that pulled Hanna's body from Mal's. His fingers slipped from the fabric in the blackness despite his best efforts to hold on.

_I'll give whatever is left of my life to save you without hesitation._

_Why? Why would you do that?_

A hand grasped onto Hanna's and held it tightly, fingers clasping around his in a steadfast grip that said without saying he would not let go.

_Because..._

_...you mean more to me than anyone else in the world._


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So, Hanna/{…} is AWESOME. You know what's not awesome? Losing the flash drive with the ENTIRE last chapter on it. I am spectacularly made of fail in that sense. SO. Re-writing this. From memory. Yeah. Awesome.

=0=

_To die, to sleep,_

_To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,_

_For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,_

_When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,_

_Must give us pause. There's the respect_

_The makes calamity of so long life_.

-Hamlet

Act 3, Scene 1

=0=

When Hanna awoke, he was wrapped up in a familiar blanket with the huge holes that he'd tried to patch up a million times or so, but gave up on because it just seemed like too much effort. Where the holes stretched over his elbows and knees—which jutted out at all angles awkwardly—Hanna was cold while the rest of him actually felt semi-warm: cocooned in such comforting familiarity. But the fabric didn't smell sweet, like syrup on top of warm hotcakes, which Hanna had come to associate with his blanket and home, and all because of a friendly zombie who always woke him with breakfast—

Hanna sat up suddenly, looking around his flat in a panicked sort of way that made it hard to breathe.

It wasn't his flat, because everything was too gray and still and without a sound coming from the kitchen, where Frank or Louis or Erasmus always had something cooking.

"Jakeb?" Hanna called, unwrapping himself from the blanket. He struggled slightly, as if suddenly the wool had become a straight jacket from which he could not escape. He managed to remove himself from it entirely after a few moments of battling the once-comforting object. Once free, Hanna left it on the sad excuse for a bed—which sagged too far to the left and looked just as gray and dismal as the rest of the apartment—and began his search. It was cautious at first, because everything seemed the same, but so different, as if he had been thrust into some sort of old black and white movie. The apartment had the same peeling walls with the cracks close to the ceiling and the floor still sported the ragged carpet that Hanna hated, but never had time to rip out. In the kitchen, the dishes from last-night's dinner were already clean and drying in the rack by the sink. But it didn't smell like anything in the house and it was too still and the usually vibrant colors of all of Hanna's things were muted and gray. And it wasn't right, he knew, because the zombie wasn't there, like he always was when Hanna woke.

Always.

"Luke?" he tried again, but his companion did not appear, even when Hanna got desperate enough to open all the cabinets and overturn all the couch cushions. His calls were met with silence as his search resulted in not a single trace of the zombie. As Hanna slumped down in defeat on one of the rickety kitchen chairs, his pocket gave a gentle tug, startling him to attention. When Hanna looked down, he realized that he still wore his partner's coat and that the motion had been from a tiny, triangular bird that could not release itself from the confines of the left pocket. Its small, orange head peeked out and Hanna smiled, because it was something vibrant in the colorless environment.

"I guess we got separated from Hector, huh?" Hanna said, removing the crane from its prison. It ruffled its wings, which looked a bit crumpled—probably because Hanna had rolled over on it at some point in his semi-sleep—and seemed aggravated with him somehow, even going so far as to nip at his glasses. "Well, hey, it's not my fault…" The bird did a somersault in the air, gliding over to the door before hovering in front of it, zipping backwards and forwards almost impatiently. _Come on, come on_ it seemed to say, and Hanna, for want of color and his missing partner, nodded in understanding.

When he opened the door, it was to the same slanted stairs and the usual darkened hallways of the building. As he descended the gray steps, Hanna could hear the normal sounds of television sets turned up too high and the clattering of breaking dishes from the people downstairs that were always fighting. He hurried out on the main landing and exited, expecting to see some sort of difference in light, but was met with more of the same washed out scene: his street with the crappy, rusting Toyota parked on the corner and the house two blocks over that dealt in drugs and whores. The fire hydrants were black and the sidewalks even grayer than he recalled as Hanna began walking down that familiar road in search of a familiar face.

But there were no people anywhere.

There was only him and a speck of brightness that came from the origami creature. Everything else was just muted shades of nothing and stillness. Not a soul was to be seen, not even shifty glances from the alleyways or the curious stares from behind the curtains that covered filthy windows. Emptiness surrounded him, as if Hanna had been dropped in the middle of a ghost town which had once been alive with people and the music blasting from passing cars and the brightness of red and yellow graffiti on the brick walls that made up almost every building in the city. Hanna felt unsettled by the quiet and lack of movement, hurrying after the crane with the hopes that it would once again bring him to his partner…

But just like before, the path was frigid and lonely.

Hanna had a guide, which was better than aimlessly wandering, but the cold permeated through the sleeves of the too-big coat, leaving Hanna shivering as he walked with agonizing slowness. The crane led him down dirty alleys and narrow streets between the leaning gray buildings with only the softest crinkling of paper as it moved before him. For what felt like forever, Hanna walked, shoulder aching and body freezing as his gait became more lethargic. Sleeping sounded wonderful and for a moment, he stopped to consider doing so. If he did, Hanna wasn't sure what would happen. Would the Striga sense his helplessness and feed off whatever remained of his life energy?

Luckily, he never found out, because the sound of a voice calling to him quietly chased his exhaustion away:

_Hanna_.

"Cain?" Hanna said aloud, looking up and then down the alley, before his eyes dashed to every window in search of his partner's face. But he was alone and left with only the smallest feeling of warmth lingering on his skin on the back of his neck. It was as if he had been caressed by his partner's fingers in that comforting gesture he sometimes used when the redhead was stressed or feeling frustrated, but wouldn't say a word. The touch was Cain's way of expressing that he understood without Hanna having to explain and that he was there to talk or make pancakes or just sit in the dark by Hanna's bed and hold is hand if he needed it. Whatever the situation, that touch _always_ made everything okay, except now, because Hanna did not have Cain with him and it made him long for his partner so much that he felt his chest physically _hurt_.

It hurt even more when, no matter how much Hanna tried, he could not remember what Cain looked like.

The crane whizzed around his head, jostling his hair in an attempt to get him to continue walking, but Hanna was rooted to the spot. He could pull up memories from the past—from just a few minutes before—and could recall most of it with perfect clarity. But, _fuck_, he could not remember what his partner's face looked like: the color of his eyes was a mystery and his height was something that escaped Hanna's recollection. The harder he tried, the more he couldn't recall _anything_.

"Hanna."

He looked up.

The voice had come from a tall figure standing at the end of the alley. Hanna was too far away to see anything specific about the person except for the outline of a hat and a black tie against a gray shirt. The fragmented image of his partner standing above him in the cemetery came to him and although the face was too blurry to see in his mind's eye, Hanna could definitely recall that the build and clothes were correct, enough for him to believe that it just might be—

_Don't._

Hanna stopped in mid-step when that word came to mind. It was a quiet, whispered warning that sent his skin crawling with goose bumps. This sense of unease increased when the crane did not make to move forward, but instead, turned to hide behind Hanna as if afraid.

"What's wrong, little rabbit? Are you lost?" the figure asked in a mocking sort of tone, coming towards Hanna with casual strides. A bad feeling began creeping up on Hanna, like that sensation he experienced sometimes on cases that were dangerous, but he jumped headfirst into anyway. It was that gut instinct that told him self-preservation was a damn good idea, even if Hanna didn't always heed that advice. This time, however, Hanna was considering it. There was just something extremely wrong with the situation and he wanted to get the fuck out of there before something even worse came along.

But he couldn't move his legs for the life of him and the thing-that-was-definitely-not-his-partner was getting closer, face still cast in shadow.

"Look at you: so afraid that you can't even run away…"

Hanna had nothing on him to defend himself: no hammer, no sharpie, nothing except a paper crane, a pocketful of name tags, and a pen—

A _pen_.

Sure it might not be as effective as the bold line of a marker, but maybe it would still work, since his legs sure as hell wouldn't. Quickly as he could, Hanna removed the pen—taken from Premier Video on 3rd and Byard—and wrote a rune on his hand. The tip dug into his palm and barely left a line, but Hanna managed to get what he needed on the first try. With a determined expression, Hanna held out his hand, ready to fight if he had to.

"I don't know what the fuck you are, but stay back or I'll blow you to hell," Hanna said, and the figure stopped, turning its head impossibly far to the right.

"Really?" it asked.

"Seriously," Hanna said.

"Well, then, it's not worth it," said the figure, straightening up.

"What the hell, really?" Hanna replied.

"Being blown to hell doesn't sound fun at all," was the reply.

"That's kind of disappointing," Hanna admitted.

"Sue me, whatever."

"So where am I, anyway?"

"Your head, where else?"

"Shit, that sucks. And who the hell are you?"

"A figment of your imagination."

"You're kind of creepy. Do you mind fucking off?" Hanna asked.

"Why don't we have a beer instead?" Figment said, throwing Hanna off considerably.

"Wait. What?"

"A beer. Let's go have one. I heard that the Rabbit Hole is a good place."

"Of course it's a good place. I go there all the time," Hanna replied.

"We _are_ in your head," Figment said.

"Oh, right."

Although Hanna was glad the thing wasn't trying to eat him, it seemed wrong to follow the figure down the alleyway, towards the shabby little bar—where Hanna had been kicked out of one-too-many times, but always allowed back the following night—however, he couldn't stop himself, because maybe it had answers to the thousands of questions Hanna had. The Rabbit Hole was always busy when he went, and sketchy as hell, but when they entered the dimly lit bar, the place was dead quiet and without its usual shady customers. Not a single person sat in the chairs or at the bar, where Figment went and perched on a stool while Hanna took another. He left a seat in between them, still not trusting the creation of his own imagination.

"Well are you going to order us anything or not?" asked Figment, whose face was still conveniently in shadow so that Hanna had no idea what he looked like.

"Why don't you do it yourself?" Hanna replied, pressing his palm against the smooth wood of the bar. He would be ready if Figment decided to turn on him and blast him into the nearest wall should he happen to attack.

"It's your dream," Figment pointed out again.

"Right," Hanna said, but didn't know how that was relevant.

"Imagine it," replied the shadow.

"What?" Hanna said.

"You're kind of slow, aren't you?" it asked, and Hanna really considered taking down the figure with a rune that would be like the biggest bitch slap on the planet. "Think about what you want and you can make anything appear."

"Bullshit," Hanna said.

"Try it," said Figment.

Hanna thought of a simple glass of house draft beer, the kind that he usually ordered at the Rabbit Hole because he was too broke to afford anything else. When he opened his eyes, there was a chilled pint sitting right next to his hand.

"Told you," it said.

"Wicked," Hanna murmured, and took a drink. It tasted like nothing. Just like everything else in the dream world, the beverage had a washed out quality to it. However, the aftertaste was quite disgusting, like what stale piss would probably taste like, and Hanna spit it out all over the counter. "Never mind. That fucking sucked."

"It was worth a shot," said Figment.

"Tell me again why you're here?" Hanna responded. Not only was the mysterious and untrustworthy, but he was also quite annoying. Hanna wondered if he could chuck the glass full of piss-water at him and see if that made any difference in his attitude.

"For funsies," was the answer.

"Fuck you," Hanna said, and got up, shoving his hands into his pockets. The paper crane struggled against his knuckles deep within the confines of the coat pocket.

"Where're you going?" Figment asked.

"I've got someone to find," Hanna said. His heart started to beat a little faster when the bird in his pocket became a bit frantic, almost like it, too, sensed that the figure behind him had stood up. "Later."

"There's no one here, Hanna. There's just you and me," it said.

"Doubtful," Hanna replied, hurrying up the stairs and into the alley to escape from the shadowy figure. When he glanced over his shoulder into the dark entryway, he saw nothing standing there and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when suddenly, the creature with no face appeared right next to him.

"You're all alone, Hanna," it said, and it was that same, mocking voice from before. A multitude of arms emerged from the body, making it look like too many spiders had bread to create a giant mutant blob with a hundred human hands.

"I'm not alone," Hanna replied, and utilized his rune. It effectively blasted the _shit_ out of that guy, tearing off several of those creepy hands in the process. All six feet of the creature fell onto the ground, spilling black blood onto the concrete from the severed limbs. With it down, Hanna could see its face entirely and recoiled in disgust. It was the Striga in all its hideousness, with the teeth forming a hugely morbid grin.

"JEEZUS, you're ugly," Hanna said, wiping his smoking hand onto the rough material of his jeans; the pen was already in his hand, prepared to write another rune.

"Fuck you, Ginger," said the Striga, as she pulled herself up again, but only to her height of about five foot nothing. The hands had regrown and were wiggling the fingers, giving the illusion of a nest full of black maggots.

"Fuck _you_," Hanna replied, holding out his palm with the new rune, ready to confront her again. "And don't refer to me like I'm a Spice Girl."

"Christ, didn't you know that Ginger is not a Spice Girl?" she answered.

"Is that seriously your response in this situation?" Hanna asked incredulously, before adding for good measure: "And Ginger is a Spice Girl, you twit, so get your facts right."

"Excuse me for not keeping up with faggy pop culture," the Striga replied. "No reason to get so testy about it," the Striga said.

"You're the one getting testy over something so stupid," Hanna pointed out.

"I don't have to argue with a midget," she replied, and her grin returned full force. "Besides, without your friends, you're kind of weak, aren't you?"

"I can send you back to hell _easy,_ by myself," Hanna promised.

"Really? Too bad you're all bark and no bite," she said. "You can't do _shit_ here, because you're lost inside your own head."

"What the fuck are you doing here anyway?" Hanna asked, keeping his distance from the Striga, in case she attacked again. His shoulder still hurt from her first bite and he was not going to allow a second.

"You're pretty fun, so I decided to torture you a bit before I kill you," she replied.

"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to play with your food?" Hanna asked, raising an eyebrow at her, as he took a very slow, hesitant step backwards.

"Don't be a smartass, I get off on this shit," the Striga said.

"That's fucked up and disgusting," Hanna replied.

"To you maybe," was her response, and her beady little eyes fell on Hanna's retreating feet. "Oh, and please, run away. The longer you struggle, the more life energy you create for me to feed from. It's the fear and paranoia that tastes the most delicious." Her grin became wider. "But desperation is the sweetest. It's like dessert, because it always comes last, when you find that there's no escaping from here."

"I'll get out of this place," Hanna said, thrusting his chin out determinedly. "And then I'll kill you."

"Or so you think. There's only one way out, but you'll never have the strength to make it that far, trust me. Though watching you try will be fun. You're cute in that sense," she replied and then laughed. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard, setting Hanna on edge, his teeth grinding together at the horrific noise. "And speaking of cute, it'll be so much fun to break you, like I did to your friend."

Hanna felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dropped over his head. It soaked into his skin and tore through every muscle and bone and nerve ending, searing through him like acid corroded through metal, which left only a numbingly agonizing pain in its wake.

"W-What?" Hanna asked, numb with disbelief.

"Well, let's just say that your friend-without-a-name is feeling a little _down_ right now," the Striga replied, and man, could her smile get any wider? A lump formed in Hanna's throat and it was definitely a lot harder to breathe than it had been before. Although he couldn't for the life of him remember the physical attributes of his partner, Hanna knew one thing: that home would not be home without him.

"Where is he?" Hanna inquired when he had his strength back, and his voice was level. Calm.

_Dangerous_.

"Nowhere that you can reach him," said the Striga.

"Bullshit," Hanna replied, glaring hard at her ugly face and gross teeth and disgusting body with more repulsion that he had ever felt in his life. "I was just with him. If I found him once, I'll find him again."

"You were not with him," she said. "No one is here in this dream with you except for me. And the creations of your imagination."

The bricks in the alley began shifting, _moaning_, as claws began to rip through the grout and mortar. Thousands of demons stuck their faces out through the brick, screeching as they tried to free themselves from the building, writhing and growling. Surrounding with suffocating clarity that made Hanna's flesh crawl.

"You're wrong," Hanna said again, and kept his eyes on the demon in front of him instead of on the creatures manifesting in the black and white world. "I'll find him."

"Doubtful," she replied, and cackled, but Hanna knew she was wrong.

Because somewhere in the distance, Hanna heard a song.

_Ooh, love. Ooh, lover boy..._

"What the fuck is that shit?" the Striga asked. Her flabby face turned from side to side, black eyes searching for the source of the music. With her distracted and Hanna angry enough, he attacked her, striking the rune directly towards her chest with enough force to send her flying backwards into a cluster of trashcans.

"It's not _shit_, it's _Queen,_ you bitch," Hanna said.

And ran.

_Set my alarm, turn on my charm..._

His feet splashed through puddles in the potholes that littered the alleyway as Hanna hurried with all he had to reach the main street. Behind him, the building pulsed and groaned as demons continued to try and break through the barrier, stretching their claws and teeth against it, as if they were trapped in some sort of amniotic sack, which was gross in every possible way.

_That's because I'm a good old fashioned lover boy_.

"Shit," Hanna breathed out, when he reached the sidewalk. He'd escaped, but the song sounded further away, and he had no idea which way to follow it in the mess that was the downtown area. "Which way, which way...?" The redhead took a guess and turned left, following that path for a block or two, straining his ears for the rest of the song.

_...I'd like for you and I to go romancin'..._

Maybe turning right on Abrams...then cutting through the alley to reach Colter? It sounded like it was getting too far away, too fast.

"Wait!" Hanna shouted, hoping somehow his voice would be heard. He pushed himself to keep running, despite the fact that he felt beyond exhausted and colder than he'd ever felt in his life. His breath materialized before him as he hurried down those familiar, empty streets, praying that the Striga was too busy trying to pull her face out of the dumpster to be chasing after him. "Marley! Juan! Homer! Russel!"

_Say the word your wish is my command._

"Jack! Taylor! Kris!" Hanna called, because maybe the music sounded stronger, even as it felt like the roads were getting narrower and the pavement harder to navigate. The concrete buckled in front of him, thrusting up the ground in giant chunks. Trying to miss it, Hanna's foot caught on one of the ridges and he fell, scraping his knee and right arm along the pavement.

_...write my letter, feel much better..._

Hanna shakily pushed himself up, chancing to look behind him. The world was closing in on itself: buildings falling into one another as they crumbled while the street folded itself up like a stiff carpet.

"Shiiiiit," Hanna said, and thinking that it would definitely not be awesome to get annihilated in such a manner, began running at full speed.

..._use my fancy patter on the telephone_.

From his pocket, the crane appeared ahead of him, providing much-needed guidance through the wreckage. The world was beginning to tip into a sort of black hole that began consuming the road and buildings behind him, so Hanna had to literally pull himself over an overturned Jeep Cherokee like he was mountain climbing in the Grand Canyon or some shit. When he made it to the other side, the ground was beginning to sink downwards in patches, as if the whole street was on the verge of collapsing into the earth's crust. But even over all the cracking and breaking, Hanna could hear Freddie's voice coming from just beyond the stop sign on the corner ahead of him. The crane zipped towards it: a beacon of light in the decaying world.

_When I'm not with you, I think of you always—_

Hanna ran and—

_I miss those long hot summer nights._

—made it to the rusty metal box with too much graffiti, which held an obsolete black phone, hanging by a frayed metal cord—

_When I'm not with you—_

—before turning the corner, feet tripping along the buckling sidewalk, to find—

—_think of me always_

—a bright orange motorcycle coming his way, which skidded to a halt just outside of a shabby storefront with bars on the windows. Even from where Hanna stood he could see that, on the rear fender—secured with yellow bungee cords—sat a beat up portable stereo blasting Queen so loudly that it was almost deafening, but at the same time, so damned reassuring that everything was going to be _okay_ that Hanna felt the tension leave his shoulders completely. And to add to that sensation of relief—

_Love you._

It was his partner who had been playing it for him.

_Love you_.

Everything seemed to stop, as if time slowed down. Behind him, the crunching and breaking of the world momentarily disappeared into a serene, quiet calmness. Although everything remained a bit washed out, color began creeping into some of the surrounding area, bleeding into the brick and stone and pavement. And all of this vibrancy stemmed from his partner, dressed in the bright orange shirt that said _safe_. Hanna could not understand how he had forgotten what he looked like, because it had to be a crime to lose the recollection of such a face. When his eyes met Hanna's, his smile strongly reinforced this fact.

How _had_ Hanna forgotten that smile?

"Rainn?" Hanna said, a bit hesitantly, because he wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't anymore. The tone of his voice sparked a reaction Hanna had seen many times in his partner: it was the usual concern that flitted behind his smile like a familiarized bad habit. Because of that, Hanna's heart said it was okay, but he had to be sure. "Is it really you?" Rainn shut off the stereo, before reaching out for his hand for Hanna's.

"It's me," he replied, and when Hanna latched on to with cold fingers, he knew that it was the truth immediately. He hadn't forgotten everything because Hanna knew that no one had hands like him.

No one at all.

"Thank God…" Hanna breathed out and Rainn gave his hand a gentle squeeze, pulling him closer. And because the redhead had truly feared he would have wandered lost in a solitary eternity, he fell against his partner, putting his arms around him in an awkward, but meaningful embrace.

"Hanna?" he said, and Hanna's grip tightened around his waist.

"I'm sorry…I just, I thought I'd never see you again for a minute there…" the redhead mumbled against him, relishing in the warmth of Rainn's body and the relief that it brought his trembling form. His partner didn't have to say a word in response, because he returned the embrace which said everything clearly enough: _It's okay. I'm here._ And though Hanna had forgotten bits and pieces of memory, he knew without a doubt that Rainn would do everything in his power to protect him, because he always had. _Always_.

Beneath them, the ground began to quake.

"We've got to get out of here," Rainn said, releasing Hanna from that wondrous hold. But he realized why, because their moment of serenity had dissipated. The path the redhead had taken through the familiar city still crumbled behind them, but at a more rapid, frightening pace. Hanna stood and stared, captivated by the destruction like people were drawn to train wrecks and car accidents, only coming back to himself when he felt Rainn grasp onto his shoulder. "Get on."

And Hanna had never been on a motorcycle before, but it was as good a time as any in his opinion.

"Let's go, Giles," Hanna said, once he'd gotten his leg over and secured his arms tightly around his partner's thin waist. Immediately, the motorcycle roared to life with a deafening growl, pushing them forward at a speed that made the wind feel like frozen needles ripping against his skin. Gripping Giles tighter, Hanna hid against his shoulder, as if behind a shield, with his body as taunt as piano wire. The ground beneath them shook and began collapsing at a rapid rate; the city buildings began falling into the earth in a series of loud crashes and shattering glass. With each turn Giles made, Hanna leaned with him, closing his eyes so that he couldn't see how close their knees were to scraping against the buckling asphalt.

He only opened them when the bike came to a startling halt, idling with a low, angry sound.

"We're in a lot of trouble," Giles said.

"Don't say that…" Hanna mumbled, chancing to turn his head slightly to see what it was his partner was referring to. The road behind them was gone, as was the road ahead of them. There was nothing except for a small island of concrete, which began to crack and break apart beneath the rubber tires.

"We're not in a lot of trouble?" he offered, but it came out strained. Hanna felt the back of the bike dip as the ground became more and more unstable.

"We're in a fuckload of trouble," Hanna replied, because he could see the remnants of the city crumbling into the abyss below. There was nothing but dust and debris and a sepia eternity waiting there. Somehow, the thought of the Striga getting off on their desperation was sickening enough that Hanna shook his head. A calmness came over him, bleeding into every trembling nerve and muscles of his body. It quelled his fears and fueled his adamant nature as he said, a bit stronger than before: "No…we'll be okay."

"We will?" Giles asked, and sounded doubtful. The tiny speck of remaining solidity wavered beneath them as Hanna closed his eyes again.

"It's just a dream," Hanna said firmly, nodding against his partner's strong back. "We'll be okay."

_Just don't let go_.

And they fell.

The motorcycle seemed to move faster than the two of them, which was a complete disregard of physics, but then again, Hanna had failed the class in school, so he wasn't an expert in any way shape or form. Instead of wondering about the mathematics, he remained focused on the feeling of falling downward, repeating over and over to himself that it was a dream and that, whatever lay beyond, would not be the end of his existence. The hand in his held on a bit tighter as the sky began to disintegrate into a void of darkness, which reached out with mouths that seemed to devour every ounce of false-reality above them. But even with the impending disaster, Hanna remained steadfast in his belief that they would be alright. It was the only thing keeping him from letting despair feed the Striga's disgusting appetite.

But then.

"Hanna!"

The redhead's hand slipped right out of the palm holding onto him, as if gravity suddenly wanted to make up for lost time. It pulled Hanna down quickly, faster than Giles, who turned in free fall in an attempt to grasp onto him again. But no matter how Hanna stretched towards him, he could not reach his partner. The brush of their fingertips was just a fleeting glimmer of hope, dashed as Hanna fell at an even quicker pace. He tried to call his partner's name—any name at all, really—but it felt suddenly like he had been thrust underwater. Hanna's lungs froze as he tried to breathe in to shout for Giles, but nothing came out.

_Hanna!_

His voice sounded far away and the image of his desperate expression, reaching hand, the concerned amber of his eyes and the thinnest glimmer of red thread disappeared as Hanna crashed into icy blue water.

It reminded him of a time, a long time ago, when one of the neighborhood kids had pushed him through the thin ice of a lake in the dead of winter. He hadn't gotten in too deep, but still experienced that moment where everything within him froze with shock at the sudden temperature. It was just like that time, where Hanna sunk for a few moments. Then, the fight came back to him and with one hand gripping his glasses, the other floundering for all he was worth, Hanna kicked his way to the surface. He broke through gasping and coughing up cold chemical-tasting water, all while shivering with the inability to process what had happened. Above him, the vaulted ceiling supported white beams made of iron, which seemed familiar in a way that Hanna could not immediately place. Instead of wondering where he had seen it, Hanna focused on the more immediate problem, which was getting out of the water before he froze to death. Teeth chattering, Hanna swam towards a gray ledge, where a black number became clear the closer he got to it.

**8 FT.**

He blinked and read it again to be sure he had seen it correctly, which he presumed he had because it still said:

**8 FT.**

Next to the lettering, there was an aluminum ladder that glimmered aqua and gold in the reflective light from the water. The taste and smell and sight of the place suddenly became familiar: Hanna was in a pool. Apparently not a heated one, either, because it was cold as balls. With shaking hands, Hanna pulled himself out of the pool and onto the frigid concrete around the water where he coughed and dripped steadily for a few minutes as he got his wits about him. Quickly afterward, Hanna did his best to clean up the droplets of moisture on his glasses before putting them back on, putting the world into a smeared sort of semi-focus. His checkered shoes squelched as he stood and began walking about, shivering uncontrollably. His breath came out in white puffs. On the far wall, black words spelled out:

WHITEHILL COUNTY MENTAL INSTITUTION POOL AND RECREATION AREA.

Whitehill County Mental Institution.

Hanna felt the blood leave his face, making him feel colder than ever before, rivaling even the way he had felt back in the frozen tundra of Narnia's backyard. He was back in _this place_ again. The place he had tried so hard to forget about. Calmness be damned, Hanna needed to get the fuck out of there.

Immediately.

His sneakers slipped and slid a bit on the slick concrete, but Hanna did not fall, even as he pushed the heavy exit door—with the bars over the windows, just like he remembered—open. It creaked, revealing a long hallway full of dark, half-opened doors. Above, the lights flickered like they did in every horror movie, casting a greenish florescent glow that took away more illumination than it gave. When Hanna stepped onto the linoleum floor, the sole of his shoe squeaked and the sound roused something otherworldly from the place. The redhead heard the shuddering laughter and muted whispers coming from every direction and even though he tried not to fear what lay beyond each door, Hanna could not help but be afraid.

What they had done to him in this place was reason enough to feel that way.

Shaking, Hanna walked forward, jumping four feet when the pool door slammed shut behind him. Glancing back at it, he swore colorfully to himself before turning forward again. At the end of the hallway, Hanna's eyes fell on a tall silhouette that certainly had not been standing there before. His heart began beating too fast as the figure began to approach him with a slow, agonizing gate.

And Hanna bolted.

He took an immediately right and began running, past the doors that started bang open and closed, like shutters in a bad storm. The lights began bursting above him, casting large patches of the hallway into darkness. Rusty gurneys blocked several following hallways while trays full of bloody medical equipment fell onto the washed out floor with clattering echoes.

"Hanna."

The redhead stopped. Above him, a sign that read _Children's Ward_ hung from a single hinge on the ceiling. The receptionist desk was empty and files were scattered all over the floor in messy heaps. Even in the bad light, Hanna could see the blood splatters covering the cream-colored folders and pages.

"Hanna."

Before him, a small figure stood, completely in shadow. It was a girl, Hanna knew, just from the tenor of her voice, though he could not see her completely. He took a hesitant step back as she came forward. In her left hand, she dragged an iron cage against the peeling floor, making a sound like nails against a chalkboard.

"Who are you?" Hanna asked, and he was too afraid to even reach for the pen in his pocket.

Too scared to defend himself from a child with a voice that sounded dreadfully familiar.

Even in the dark, Hanna saw her tilt her head to the side, impossibly far to the right, so that it made a snapping sound, like her spine had splintered completely with the motion.

"Hanna," she said, and another step forward put her into a half-light that showed Hanna everything he had never wanted to see: pale, rotting flesh, the blank, milky-white eyes of death, and the blood that covered a white hospital gown, coated in her scraggly blond hair. Her head lolled unsteadily at its unnatural angle, but she smiled in a way that sent chills through Hanna's body. "I'll sing a song for you."

Hanna stumbled backwards before getting enough sense to run. And he ran, taking a left, then another left, then a right, past all the open doors with too many instruments of torture Hanna could not think about at that moment. When he reached the young adult ward, he snatched a sharpie from the destroyed secretarial desk and shakily wrote a rune on his palm. If something came at him, at least he might be able to protect himself in some way. Behind him, his trail of wet footprints shimmered in the green light like oil. Despite the cold and the fear, Hanna hurried forward, past the open cell doors and the bloody hand prints on the walls. To make the whole situation even eerier than before, Hanna heard the grating sound of the iron cage scraping against the floor, which followed behind him at a slow pace.

And then, Hanna heard the young girl singing softly:

"_Hush, darling Hanna_

_Don't run away..._

_The monsters always find you_

_Anyways…"_

"Fuck…" Hanna breathed out as he swiftly moved onward. He considered hiding in one of the open rooms, but caught a flash of the painful-looking equipment inside and did not think of it again. All he knew was that he had to escape somehow.

Somehow.

"_You won't get away_

_Not this time…"_

Ahead of him, the double doors to the cafeteria proposed a safer place than the remnants of the mental institution and the creepy song that continued to follow him. Throwing open the doors, Hanna found the hundred or so familiar tables lined up perfectly in a stoic grayness. Above, the heavy industrial lights creaked as they swayed back and forth in a non-existent wind. Not wanting to stand beneath them for too long—as the whole place seemed to be one big fucking death trap—Hanna dashed toward the kitchen, where pots and pans hung in aluminum perfection above the unheated stoves and sinks.

Outside, Hanna heard the sound of the cafeteria doors open again, followed by the screeching of a bird cage against the floor and then, the finishing lines of a haunting lullaby:

"_So, hush darling Hanna,_

_Don't you sigh_

_Because we'll rip you to pieces_

_Until you die."_

There was a cutting block sitting on the counter by the refrigerator and Hanna, mouth dry, body shaking, removed the butcher knife from the wood. The steel made a sharp sound as it glided over the lacquered holder and the weapon felt heavy in Hanna's sweaty palm.

_Hanna_.

"Ulysses?" the redhead whispered, hoping, _praying_ it was his partner. His fingers tightened around the knife as the scraping came closer and closer to the kitchen.

_Hanna_.

Although he felt some relief knowing that it was Ulysses—he knew that voice anywhere, really—it did not calm his breathing or his heart, which continued at their frantic paces in the terrifyingly real situation. Hanna moved as quietly as possible through the kitchen in an attempt to find an exit, but it was a stainless steel maze with too many directions and not enough clues as to where to go.

And then, his right pinky finger gave a twitch.

Followed by another, stronger one, which felt as if someone had yanked on it.

When Hanna glanced down he saw, in a certain slant of light, that there was a thin, red thread around the digit. It originated from a direction left of where he stood and Hanna, not having anything else to go on, followed the crimson slice of color through the dark kitchen, winding his way through impossible back hallways and corridors. Behind him, the footsteps of a dead little girl became fainter as Hanna traveled further away from her. He ended up back in the hallways of the institution, following fearlessly past the black doorways beneath the blinking lights. The thread ended at door that read: **KEEP OUT: BASEMENT**.

Basement.

The word repeated itself over and over in his mind. Hanna's finger gave another twitch, but his palm hovered centimeters from the knob in hesitation. The basement? Was Ulysses really down there? And if so, why wouldn't he come upstairs. Didn't he know that bad things usually happened in the basement?

Something flitted in his peripheral vision that was distinctly human, though if it was alive or not, Hanna could not be sure.

Well, Hanna presumed, bad things happened to occur when one found themselves in an abandoned mental hospital with creepy dead people, too, so really the basement couldn't be much worse, right? Especially if Ulysses was there…

_Hanna, please. _

His deliberation ended and Hanna turned the knob upon hearing that whispered request. His partner sounded _afraid_ and that unnatural tone sent Hanna into a seek and destroy sort of mode. If something had happened to Ulysses, he was going to kick everything's ass within a one hundred mile radius.

No exceptions.

The door fell open with a slam, but to his credit, Hanna did not jump. Even though there was no light, Hanna took the stairs as if it were broad daylight; like he was not afraid of the basement because of what he recalled hearing from the other patients so long ago about _the bad place_. He fearlessly pushed onward into the dark, following the thin red strand to an unknowable fate. When he reached the bottom, Hanna felt a bad sensation wash over him like a cold wave, making his right hand clutch the knife tighter than before. It prompted him to raise his left hand to create a magik reaction in order to form light.

He wished he hadn't.

A pale boy with broken glasses stared back at him: cheeks gaunt and hollow with purple bruises sagging beneath his too-wide, too-blue eyes. He wasn't dead—though Hanna thought so at first—but so ashen that his freckles stood out against his alabaster skin in a random pattern that resembled a blood splatter. It took Hanna a moment too long to realize that he knew the boy with the exhausted appearance and the cracked lenses and the horrible buzz cut.

It was _Hanna_.

He laughed with a low, dark chuckle and Hanna couldn't believe his face could look like that: twisted and evil with the haunted eyes that didn't blink regularly at all. Hanna stepped back, colliding with the cold wall as the image of himself stepped closer, with teeth too sharp to be anything but inhuman.

_Hanna_.

His finger gave a twitch again, but when Hanna looked past himself, he saw the basement hallway covered in red thread: knotted and woven over the walls and ceiling like a morbid spider web.

"You'll never find him down here," his twin said, and two thin, claw-like hands secured themselves around Hanna's throat. Unable to escape, Hanna choked, trying to breathe as the thumbs pressed into his neck, threatening to collapse his airway. Biting his lip, Hanna shut out the image of his younger self and the unending mess of thread ahead of him, thinking instead of the gold eyes and reaching hand of his partner who _needed_ him. The light in his hand dissipated as his oxygen supply was cut off, but Hanna didn't even think about it. He didn't need to see in order to _stab_, and he did. Although his profession could be violent, Hanna did not like to hurt anyone, but in that moment, nothing could be more satisfying than feeling the blade bury itself into flesh and in between bone. The fingers released him and Hanna heard himself slump to the floor, unmoving.

And then Hanna began running again.

From his smoking hand, he created a weak light, tripping his way through a labyrinth of stone and empty rooms and red, red wire. The cold and wet of his clothes no longer bothered him as Hanna searched for any sign of his partner, going so far as to shout for him in the unknown space.

"Ulysses!" he tried, followed by: "Alan! Ronald! Seamus!"

But he didn't answer, and what followed were only the continued pulls to his pinky, which became weaker and weaker the longer Hanna looked for him. But thankfully before desperation set in too deeply, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Literally, not figuratively.

Hanna hurried toward the pale, amber glow, squinting against it when he stepped into the illuminated space. The first thing he noticed was the pavement beneath his sneakers, then the narrow brick walls of an alley. Trashcans lay overturned in piles of garbage. In one of the apartments above, Hanna could smell some pretty pungent weed. Just as he was wondering how he'd escaped from horror movie hell to some sketchy back alleyway, Hanna saw the red thread again.

Its knotted path led to the other side of a large, green dumpster, where a pair of familiar orange sneakers jutted out into the alley. They were attached to a pair of legs wearing tattered gray jeans and, as Hanna neared, he saw and _smelled_ the copper in the air; the sharp bitterness of blood.

"Fuck…no…" Hanna mumbled, letting his eyes follow along the form of the crimson-stained orange shirt and black tie and _god_ the trail of blood from his lips. Beneath his still figure, a scarlet puddle had formed, making the scene all too real for Hanna's liking. On his partner's pinky finger, the other end of the red thread took the form of a a weak, limping bow-knot. Hanna's eyes felt hot and his chest constricted like someone had stepped on him and _fuck, why was he always too late_?

"Ashton?" Hanna tried weakly, forcing his feet to near his fallen partner, willing himself not to cry, because it was fucking stupid to cry, especially when it was his fault that Ashton was dead and the knife sticking out of his shoulder was as real as all the other stab wounds on his body and _Christ_, Hanna couldn't breathe at the thought of waking up to another day without _him_ there.

But then Ashton's lips parted slightly as he let out a small gasp, giving Hanna some kind of weak hope that everything would be _okay_.

"H—Ha—" he tried to say, but could not get Hanna's name out entirely. The injuries he'd sustained were too bad to allow him that, and it was with all the strength that Hanna possessed that kept him from completely breaking down right there.

"It's okay," Hanna said, even though it _wasn't_, but he had to lie, because the truth was too hard to fathom at that moment. Kneeling down—his ripped jeans soaked up the warm blood, making it solidify as_ real_ in Hanna's mind—he leaned over Ashton and tried to smile as he added shakily: "I-I'm here now…"

His partner's eyes moved a bit behind the lids and with what seemed like a herculean effort, he managed to open them slightly. The light amber color had darkened into a near-black with pain and…

Hanna couldn't say _death_, because it was just too _wrong_.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry I wasn't there…" Hanna said, and was just about to reach out to touch Ashton when—

Something rushed at him quickly and hit him upside the head.

It didn't hurt, but it certainly had been a distraction. Blinking, Hanna realized what it was and frowned. The orange crane had crumpled into his lap after striking him in the temple, but it was back up, pecking and nipping at his glasses to make Hanna back up slightly. The redhead swatted at the creature in an attempt to get it to go away, but it would not leave.

"Stop it," Hanna grumbled, not knowing why the crane would be intervening at such a time, and with such annoying intentions too. But then Hanna realized what it could mean and stopped his actions entirely.

No _effing _way.

"Hanna!"

Before Hanna could even move, he felt himself hoisted from his position on the ground and pulled several feet from where his partner lay dying. The arm around him was strong and warm, but Hanna fought it instinctively, not trusting anything within such a dream. Scrambling away, he stumbled to a place out of reach before looking back. He was faced with a sudden dilemma: Ashton bleeding on the ground, slowly dying, and Ashton standing unharmed in front of him. The both of them looked confused and somewhat hurt that they'd been rejected by Hanna so quickly.

And both had a red thread tied around his pinky.

The threads wove together and knotted so many times before reaching his that Hanna could not figure out which was the impostor and which was real. But even though he had been nearly moved to tears by the injured version of his partner, the crane still appeared adverse to that figure and flitted to land on the shoulder of the Ashton who had pulled him away. That crane was drawn to his partner, he recalled and fearful of the enemy. And when Hanna stepped closer to him and knew he had made the correct decision, because the color of his eyes and the line that formed beneath his right eye when he smiled just _so_ could not be mimicked by any impersonator.

"Tobias," Hanna breathed out, relief coloring the weariness of his voice as he found himself—for the second, or was it third, time—pulled into a one-armed embrace that said everything entirely.

"Well, aren't you two just fucking adorable?"

The rhetorical question came from the doppelganger, who sat up quickly, in good health now that charade had come to an end. He wore Tobias' face, so it was a bit disconcerting to see such a malevolent grin stretch over his lips in that devilish manner.

"I almost had you, too, Hanna, if it wasn't for your dog always getting in the way," it said and removed the knife from its shoulder. Tobias tucked Hanna a little further behind him, as if to keep the redhead out of the way. "Relax, Fido, I'm not going to fuck with you. _Much_." With that said, faster than Hanna could comprehend, Tobias' twin threw the weapon, which embedded itself directly in his partner's throat. He made a small sound of pain, dropping to one knee as he clutched at his neck, where blood began spilling over his fingers at a rapid rate.

"The FUCK man?" Hanna shouted, not knowing what to do with Tobias bent over and bleeding like he was; torn between wanting to help his partner and wanting to kick the crap out of the guy who had done the damage.

"Relax, Red, it's not like he's gonna _die_," said the impostor with a shrug, as he got up and brushed off his dirty clothes. They cleaned themselves instantly as he tugged at the tie to straighten it. Next to Hanna, his partner gagged as he slowly began pulling the knife out of his throat. It made Hanna grimace and he clutched onto Tobias' shoulder as blood dripped and then began flowing onto the ground from the wound. Across the alley from them, the doppelganger made an annoyed sound. "Don't be such a drama queen. It's like a Band-aid: just rip it out in one go."

"You're _sick_," Hanna said, and his voice had a darker, edgier tenor to it than usual.

"Oh, are we going to have a name-calling contest now?" it asked, and Hanna's intensity only increased, only to be broken by a cheerful sounding:

"Well, Christ on a bike, is everyone still alive out here?"

From around the dumpster, two figures appeared: one small and female, the other a bit taller and male. It caused Hanna to nearly have a fit.

"What the fuck is this shit?" he cried, seeing the younger version of himself with a knife sticking out of his gut. He was standing beside the creepy girl whose head constituted as a straight-up ninety-degree angle.

"What the fuck is what shit?" Hanna's younger self asked, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "_You_ fucking stabbed _me_."

"You tried to kill me!" Hanna replied in his defense.

"I don't make the rules, I just play by them," replied his twin, holding up his hands as if free of all blame.

"Well, he ran away from me like a pussy," the little girl pointed out.

"Because you're creepy as fuck, didn't you notice?" Hanna asked.

"I don't want to hear your bullshit," she replied, sticking her chin out, though it was where her right ear should have been, so it wasn't as effective as she might have thought. "And, Jesus, do you know how hard it is coming up with morbid lyrics that rhyme? I should get _paid_ for that fucking talent right there."

"Am I stuck in some sort of B-rated horror, because this is fucking awful," Hanna said, and his partner's doppelganger kind of shrugged as if he didn't give a shit.

"Hey, we're just here to be scary. It's not our fault you fucked it up," he said. Beside Hanna, Tobias coughed and the knife clattered onto the cracking asphalt.

"That was...really...unpleasant..." his partner managed to get out, voice hoarse what with the big hole in his neck and everything.

"Dude, that was so badass, like, whoa," said Hanna's fake, with an impressed sort of emphasis on his words.

"Man, I told you to just rip it out," said Tobias' double. "Like a Band-Aid, seriously."

"Okay, can you all get the fuck lost or something?" Hanna asked, looking at the images that surrounded them in various states of doppelganger-ing and injury.

"Well, the director of the show wants to come by and say a few words," said his partner's twin.

"What, that we've just been Punk'd? Because I'll be so _fucking_ pissed, like you have no idea," Hanna replied, fingers clenching into Tobias' shoulder harder than ever. If he saw Ashton Kutcher jump out of the alleyway with a TV crew, Hanna _would_ be punching someone in the face. But instead of the annoying movie star, Hanna found himself with another unwanted guest, who he wouldn't have minded punching in the face either.

"Evening," greeted the Striga, who received several bored-sounding responses in return from the three of her underlings {_'Sup_, _Yo_, and _Go Fuck Yourself _in all actuality} while Hanna's own words were too awful, even with a mature filter, so they could not be reiterated on paper. "No need for the mouth," she chided.

"You're a cuntbiscuit, I don't need to listen to you," Hanna replied, still sore over the whole scenario and his partner's unnecessary wounds.

"You know, you're so fun to fuck with all the time," said the Striga and sighed, "if only it wasn't for that attitude of yours. What would your mother think?"

"Don't you _dare_ bring my mother into this," Hanna answered, and his tone was nothing but dangerous. Even though he wasn't looking at anyone but the demon, he felt the stares on him, the strongest coming from his partner, whose radiated concern.

"Fine, fine, we can be mature adults about this," said the Striga, waving her minions away. "Kids, go to bed."

"But it's so early," whined the creepy little girl.

"I'm not tired," said Hanna's double.

"I've got a date," said Tobias' twin.

"You're all going to bed, right this instant. And don't forget to brush your teeth," she told them, and they all grumbled, leaving as they were asked. After one of the peeling black doors in the alley closed, the Striga looked at Hanna and shrugged: "My kids. Can't live with them and can't eat them, so what're you gonna do?"

Hanna was too shocked to know that something had _mated_ with the creature in front of him that he could not come up with a witty enough response.

"This...is just...weird..." said Tobias, rubbing at his throat with crimson-colored hands.

"And speaking of weird, you two are unique, aren't you?" the Striga replied, coming closer to them. Beneath the yellow light of the alleyway, Hanna could see her flabby, pale flesh under the hood with a burned out quality that reminded him of an old cigarette. The closer she came, the more Hanna wanted to knock her into next week, but refrained, because his partner was still recovering from the attack. "Well, I think it would be better to use the word _queer_, am I right?"

"Are you still going on with the homosexual jokes?" Hanna asked, but his face felt hot because, yeah, Tobias was pretty hot—which was kind of not the right thing to be thinking about at that moment, but sue him, he was attracted to the man—and sure, he'd engage in some sort of sexual relationship with him, but bringing it up in casual conversation was kind of awkward.

"Oh, c'mon," said the Striga. "I've got Gaydar like no one's business. If you haven't fucked yet, you're pretty close to doing so." Tobias made a choking sound at this insinuation and Hanna had a pretty good notion that it had nothing to do with his injury. "But then again, he's pretty dead in reality. Unless you're into necrophilia, I guess you guys _wouldn't_ be fucking, huh?"

"Can we talk about something different?" Hanna asked.

"Fine, if you two don't want to discuss your relationship issues, that's fine with me," she replied.

"Good, because we've got more important things to worry about, like the fact that you're eating kids and probably putting them through all sorts of shit like this, which will set their parents back _thousands_ because of all the therapy they're going to need after this," Hanna said.

"Touche, babe, no reason to get all up on your soap box and shit," she said.

"Then tell us something useful or get the _fuck_ out of my head," Hanna replied. She grinned, showing all of her crookedly sharp teeth.

"Oh, but this isn't only _your_ dream now," the Striga answered and her beady little eyes fell onto the red thread connecting Hanna and his recovering partner. "You know what that is right there?"

"No," Hanna eventually said, because he had no idea.

"It's the Red Strand of Destiny," she replied, "otherwise known as _akai ito_."

"And?" Hanna asked.

"It connects two people throughout space and time," the Striga said. "It can knot and get all twisted and shit, but those two people will never be separated, as they're destined to remain together."

"So?" Hanna inquired.

"Goddamn, you're as dumb as a fucking brick, aren't you?" she asked. "You're Dreamsharing, for fuck's sake."

"Dream...sharing?" Hanna and Tobias said in unison.

"It's rare," she answered and looked a little annoyed. "It allows the two people connected to move in and out of each others dreams, which makes it difficult as fuck for someone like me to nom your pretty little bundles of life energy."

"Really now?" Hanna asked, and smirked a bit at this revelation.

"Yeah, you little shit, but don't look like you got out of the cookie jar without me seeing, because sure as hell I'm going to get my way," she said, and her grin grew wider. "All I've got to do is let you keep dreaming. I'll slowly drink the both of you dry and there's nothing you can do about it." Then she laughed, and it was worse than before, grating on Hanna's nerves so badly that his teeth began grinding against one another. The cackle died off as her form began to fade away, with a few last words of farewell: "In the meantime, boys, sweet dreams."

And just when Hanna thought they might get away semi-unscathed, the ground beneath them became soft, like quicksand, and started pulling them down quickly.

"Sam," Hanna said and his hand immediately became enveloped in his partner's without him having to say anything else. It comforted him within seconds, because he knew then that he wasn't alone.

He wouldn't be alone again, so long as the red thread connected them.

"It's okay...Hanna..." he said quietly and when he looked up at the redhead, his smile was tired, but meaningful. There was something—maybe _everything—_in that smile that made Hanna feel _warm_ for the first time since their dream started. "We'll be...okay..."

"Yeah," Hanna replied, and knelt in the melting bricks next to him. He abandoned Sam's hand only for a moment, in order to put his arms around his partner's broad shoulders. "We'll be okay." Sam returned the embrace, holding Hanna tightly against him as the liquid sucked them down further. And there was nothing romantic about it at all, but Hanna's heart beat frantically in his chest at their proximity, fingers clenching in Sam's hair, fearing silently that he'd never be able to be held like this ever again. When the substance swallowed them in darkness, Hanna could only whisper quietly within his own mind.

_Just don't let me go._

_I won't_.

**pqpq**

Herp derp. 37 pages and my CTS burns like a bitch. Sleeptime for meeeee because work's gonna suck balls tomorrow. /end rant

**Dhampir72 **


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